Photophobia
by WhiteLadyDragon
Summary: If you thought beating the Light was tough, check out Aster's new problem: helping Sartorius conquer his new fixation...FEAR of light! Based loosely on the end of Season Two. Stupidity galore! COMPLETED!
1. You Need Help

**_Disclaimer: _I do not own any/ all entities featured in this segment. I rent.

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You would be traumatized, too, if you spent countless, horrible months under the influence of an evil alien. **

**"Photophobia" means "fear of light", by the way. **

**I dedicate this tale to Destinyshipping (Aster x Sartorius), because I think it's touching, in its own peculiar way. Anyone else agree? Okay, it's more of a friendship thing, but friendship is love as well, no? **

**_WARNINGS: _I'll just summon it in one word: _stupidity_****. And it gets kind of fluffed-out near the end...**

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_**PHOTOPHOBIA**_

**_Part I_**

You would've liked to believe that expelling that stupid Wave of Light and dissolving the Society made everything better, huh? After all was said and done, I could forgive Sartorius, squash my traitorous guardian, "D", go home, and everything would be hunky-dory. After all, that's the impression you got after watching the finale of season two, I'm sure.

Yeah, I _wish _things would be like that. Only problem was, they weren't. In fact, after my first year at Duel Academy, daily life was the exact opposite of "all right".

See, as it turns out, all those months under the Light left my old friend Sartorius more emotionally rattled than we first assumed. Oh, he gave up the tarot card-reading thing, just let the cursed deck blow away on the breeze and wished them good riddance. He told Sarina and I that he wished never to hear words like "destiny" or "fortune" again. True, we all felt terrible for what he'd been through (and what he'd put us through).

But we never actually expected that he'd still be so traumatized in the weeks that followed his release from the hospital. At the apartment where the three of us had lived in since we were kids, the first couple of days were quiet. But soon Sartorius began to act a little...funny, so to speak.

First came the nightmares, when he'd wake up the middle of the night shrieking and quivering with sobs. "_Help! HEEELLLPP!! The Light's got me!! Leave me alone, please!!" _It was enough to disturb all the neighbors in the three floors below us. Ooh, did they get snappy with their complaints ("Can't you get that freakin' psycho roommate of yours to shut up?!"). Not only that, but it'd always take a hour, maybe two hours, to lull him back to sleep. Two merciless hours of rubbing his back, assuring him that it was only a bad dream...even getting him some of that special tea that's supposed to put you to sleep. It was like tending to a baby...a colicky eighteen-year-old baby.

Next came the bizzare reactions toward light. If I clicked on a lamp, Sartorius would screech like a bat and duck under the sofa, hands over his eyes. If Sarina shined a flashlight, he'd shoot straight to his room with the lights out, and stay huddled in the corner for hours. Why, he even took to only eating anything in the pantry just because he said the food in the fridge was "poisoned with the evil of light"!

Then, he quit going outside altogether. Whenever I had money to spend, I'd suggest that we would go out. Every time, he'd make up a quick, anxious excuse, then retreat to his room and lock the door.

While he was beginning to avoid all light, I was beginning to lose my patience. I wasn't the only one.

Sarina and I were sitting down at the table one day. Sartorius was asleep in his room, with the door locked. Twirling a lock of her raven-black hair around her finger, I could tell from the look on her face that she was troubled.

"I can't take it anymore, Aster," she said to me. "He's only getting worse. Quite frankly, I liked it better when he was still possessed by that alien. At least he didn't run away when you clicked a light on and lock himself in a closet. He's looking so pale and skinny..."

"You think it's best if we sent him back to the hospital?"

"I probably would...except it's so bright in there, he'll just run amok like a blind bat."

"We gotta get _some _kind of help for him! You think I like this? The only plus on this situation is that we've saved a truckload on the electric bill...at the expense of creature comforts. Maybe if we hooked him up with some sort of shrink?"

Sarina exhaled through her nostrils. "Yes...but it'll have to be a doctor who does house calls. You've seen what's resulted when we've tried to lure him outside."

* * *

A little later on, I found him in the den, reading a book. All the shades in the room were drawn, and all the lamps were off. It was like walking into a cave. Sartorius was curled up on the couch, a thick dark blue comforter pulled over him. 

"You're reading a book in the dark? Isn't that gonna hurt your eyes?"

"The only thing that hurts my eyes is the evil 'L-word', Aster."

I snorted. He was so scared of light, he couldn't even say its name. "Ooo-kay...Sartorius, can we talk?"

He set the book on an arm of the sofa. "Of course. Sit by my side, please."

I plopped down next to him. "Listen, don't take this the wrong way, but...can you tell me that you truly and honestly like living like this?"

"Like what?"

"You know what I mean! Sarina and I are worried about you, man! You live almost like a...a vampire or something, only without the thirst for blood. You're getting paler and skinnier, and I never thought that was possible until now. We don't hang out anymore-"

"What? Am I a burden on your reputation?"

_Where the hell did that come from?_ "Hey now, I never said that! That's got nothing to do with what's going on here; I'm more concerned with your health than my rep. The point is, Sarina and I were talking this over and think...well...you need help."

Sartorius just stared at me, pulling the comforter tighter over himself until only his wide amethyst eyes were showing. "H-Help??"

I nodded.

At first, both of us were silent. I wanted to let it sink in, if it was.

Then, the silence was broken with, "You're not going to throw me back in that hospital, are you? It's everywhere...it'll take me again, for sure...I'm so sorry, Aster. If I could, I would find my own place to live, just to ease your discomfort. Yours and Sarina's. If only there wasn't so much of it ravaging about..."

I slapped my forehead. It was official: if Sartorius wasn't going to find help for himself, then it was up to me.

Better hit Google.

**_TO BE CONTINUED..._**

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**_I don't know what exactly happened to old Sartorius at the end of the season; this story is just based on a humorous hypothesis. And this was only part one, too! Flame me, if you will. _**


	2. Introducing Google

**_Disclaimer: _I do not own any/ all entities featured in this segment. I rent. Oh, but I do owe my resources to good ol' Google, who has recently celebrated its ninth birthday, I believe (I saw a little nine in it the other day).

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**

**_Part II_**

I had to go on Google when Satrorius was napping; he'd just freak out if he saw the computer on. Sarina was seated at my right flank, eying the monitor almost quizzically, like she was looking at a novelty.

"I see. So that tiny bar at the top of the screen is where you gain access to this 'Google'?"

"Uh, yeah. What, you've never used Google before?"

"To speak the truth, I've never visited this place called 'the Hair Net'."

"_Inter_net, Sarina."

"Why, I don't even recall being this close to a computer."

I stared at that girl for at least two minutes. "You mean to tell me that you lured Yuki and I into cyberspace to duel us, turning his two cronies into a lizard and Volkswagen, yet you don't know how to use a damn computer?" Seriously, where was the logic behind that??

Sarina blushed, bowing her head. "Well, I used magic to do that. And I meant to say that I never used one of _computers _that help you travel the Fishing Net."

"_Internet! _Changing the subject, here's how you use Google. First you type up what you're looking for." Fingers on the keyboard, I typed the words "local psychiatrists". Afterwards, I pressed the "Enter" button. Instantly, a list of blue links appeared before us. Sarina look bewildered.

"Look at all those names! So many to choose from...hope there's someone there who specializes in phobias. Say, what is that thing?" She pointed that colorful "Google" you may find at the bottom of the page, with the ten yellow O's in it.

"I thought Google had only two O's."

I couldn't help but sigh. "Well, this is just the first page. Click on one of these other O's, and it'll take you to another page full of links."

"Really? How many of these 'sites' are there?"

"Dunno, depends on what you're looking for. Here, they say so up here." I highlighted a figure at the top right corner: 1,870,000 results for "local psychiatrists".

Her jaw practically fell off. "My God...the Butterfly Net is an endless sea of knowledge," she breathed.

"That's why they call it the Information Super-Highway. And for the third time, it's the _Internet. _In-ter-net. Go on, say it with me."

"In...ter...net?"

I snapped my finger. "Bingo! You win the million dollar prize! If there was one. Now, let's start here." I clicked a blue link that read _"Find Local Psychiatrists- Reports and Ratings". _

First popped up a list of cities scattered across Japan. I picked Domino City, where we lived. Another list appeared before us, only this one had names of people, addresses and what they specialized in.

"Okay, here's a doctor," I pointed. "Dr. Yunita Life, M.D."

Sarina raised an eyebrow. "You-need-a-life? How rude! I say it's _you_ that needs a life, if you're going to pick on others!"

"Hey, hey, that's what it says! Honestly! But let's just click on her, see if she does house calls..." I clicked. All it said was that this Life graduated with an M.D., had been in the profession for twelve years, blah, blah, blah...

As if that wasn't bad enough, they were charging money in exchange for additional information! Twenty-two bucks, to be exact.

"Can they do that? Can they charge?"

"Well...the guys posting this up do gotta make their money. Google can't support itself."

"It can't?"

I rolled my eyes. "Noooo...Google didn't get the way it is today all alone. It took brains, determination, and fat wallets."

She fell silent, probably taking it all in. I took this as an oppurtunity to look for someone else: "Dr. C. U. Inthe-Nuthouse, M.D." I was beginning to question whether we were looking at real doctors, or flat-out quacks.

The names kept getting weirder on down the list: Dr. Lene Toodeleft, Dr. Keapa Stiff Upperlip, Dr. R. U. Braindead, and- oh, here's another good one- Dr. Seetha Light.

Sarina remarked, "Maybe we should rule that last one out? The name alone would be enough for him to lock himself in the closet."

"Well, the point of this search is to find somebody who'll help him 'see the light' about how harmless the light really is. But since I'd rather not pay to see if any of these guys do house calls, we'll probably have to call them and ask.

"In the meantime...see if you can find a way to lure Sartorius outside, in case we don't find anyone."

"But I thought you were a rich Pro duelist? Surely you could spare- oh, never mind. I'll see what I can do. Though I know it won't work."

* * *

Afterwards, I spent practically the whole afternoon phoning shrinks. Basically, every conversation was the same thing: 

"Hello? Hey, uh, can I set up an appointment for my troubled friend?"

"Certainly!"

"Great. Do you do house calls?"

"...Why? Is your friend too lazy to get off his dairy-air to go to an office?"

"Shut up, it's not that at all! It's just that...well, he's afraid to go outside." (I said this with flushed cheeks.)

"Afraid to go out?? Man, your friend must be _really _screwed up! Ever consider putting him in an institute?"

Now my face was changing from a shamed pink to a furious beet-red. "Well, some doctor you are! Like I wanna send him to the nuthouse with other wackos!"

I slammed down the reciever in a huff. "Asshole..."

Just then, I thought I heard a sniff from around the corner. I turned my head to see old Sartorius standing there, with a blanket over his head, and eyes shimmering with what may had been tears. Had he been there the whole time?

"Sartorius?"

"You...you _do _want to send me away, don't you?" he asked in almost a whisper.

_Oh, no._ "Whoa, hey, come on now! I didn't mean it like that, honest-"

Too late. He disappeared around the corner, the last I heard from him being the slamming of the door to his room, followed by the clicking of a lock.

Frustrated, I collapsed onto the sofa, pinching the spot between my closed eyes. Now what was I going to do? I had a duel to get to tomorrow night; and it didn't help that there was this...soap opera crap going on back here. Well, that's what I'd call it.

_Wait. Maybe you should go talk to him? Tell him that you're NOT sending him away. _

I gave an exhausted sigh, then got up to shuffle to the locked door. I knocked on it, hoping he would answer.

"What? You're trying to tell me to pack my things?"

"No. Listen man, what I said on the phone...I didn't mean it like that. The guy was just being a jerk; he told me to do that. What I meant to say was that I'm not planning to. All right?"

At first, there was no response. I leaned my ear against the door. "Hey, did you hear me?"

"Please..."

"Huh?"

"Please...pr-promise me you won't, Aster. Don't get _it _get me again...please..."

**_TO BE CONTINUED..._**

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**_Sorry if this chapter sucked cheese. I tried pretending to look for a shrink myself, to make it look authentic. It was a bit of a bust. _**

**_Also, I apologize if I made Sarina look like a moron. She just doesn't look like the kind of girl to know what Google is, even if she has been in cyber space. I could be wrong, however. _**

**_Anyways, that was part two! Brace yourselves for part three! _**


	3. Zane? A SHRINK?

**_Disclaimer: _I do not own any/ all fictional entities in this segment. I rented them to get my sick kicks. Also, I do not own the blue anti-dandruff shampoo Selsun Blue, nor their motto. Don't sue me, I beg you! **

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**This next chapter features good ol' Zane (as Hell Kaiser, of course). I've been looking at Japanese clips and noticed that he doesn't want to lunge at Phoenix's throat whenever he had the chance. Maybe these two have come to neutral terms, if not friendship terms?**

**Okay, I'll admit that I felt lonely, so I wanted to feature him in this fiction. But, I found a way to do it without getting flamed for it...I think.**

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**_Part III_**

"Look, he's _not _a Devil-worshipper, okay? All I said is that he's scared of light!"

"Sir, I can't work with someone who is unwilling to embrace the Lord's light!"

"And it's that kind of attitude that scares him! Can't you let up on the religious crap to help him out? We just want someone to come over and help him tackle his phobia!"

"May God smite you!"

_Click. _

So much for Dr. Seetha Light. Nothing against religious folk, but they can be so irritating to work with. Particularly if they're doctors.

I clapped the reciever back in place. This was just swell: I had a match to get to later on, and I _still _couldn't find a doctor for Sartorius. To top it off, my friend thought I was sending him away to the nuthouse, despite my attempts to reassure him otherwise.

Sarina came out the kitchen with a cup of tea in her hands. "Any luck?"

I shook my head. "Another one just hung up on me. At this point, I'm beginning to question if there are _any _shrinks in this city...and I don't mean the quacks with stupid names and overbearing God complexes. Any luck on Sartorius?"

"Afraid not. I've tried everything: from luring him outside with Pocky, to putting a blindfold over his eyes, to blackmail."

"You...blackmailed your brother?"

"It was a last resort," she answered quickly, twirling a lock of her hair around her finger. "Didn't work, anyhow. Not even when I threatened to tell everyone that he sleeps with a...no, never mind. You don't need to know that." Maybe it was better if I didn't.

Finally, I reached over to get my jacket. "Maybe if I circle the neighborhood and ask around, we can still find someone who'll help him? Keep an eye on Sartorius, in case he pulls off something funny."

Sarina cocked her head to one side. "You think a light-fearing boy who fears the outdoors will be doing anything funny?"

* * *

So now here I was, pacing the street by the stadium, stopping occaisonally to ask strangers if they knew any good shrinks. So far, my efforts were fruitless. Nobody was seeing a doctor...which is kind of a shocker, considering the state of the world. 

That was when I was passing the outdoor cafe, and guess who I discovered sitting there, drinking a glass of water? My good buddy, Zane Truesdale! Oh, wait, sorry about that. Now that I think it over, I'm not sure if it's legitimate to describe him as a "good buddy". We knew each other at the acquaintance level, at best. I didn't care _too_ much about him, but sometimes we'd pass each other around the stadium. If I'd try starting a teeny conversation with him, to break the ice, he'd just ignore me. I'm telling you, that guy is like a book written in wing-dings: you can't read him.

For a moment, I wondered whether to ask him. He was probably seeing a shrink; he sure needed one. But then, Truesdale would probably brush me off, as usual. Still, it wouldn't hurt to try, would it?

Taking a deep breath, I ambled over to his table as casually as possible. "Say, Truesdale! What a coincidence to catch you here? What's up?"

He opened one stone-cold eye and set his drink down, but said nothing.

Gingerly, I pulled up a chair and took a seat. "So, ah, Truesdale...maybe this'll sound weird, but...I was wondering if...well..." I'll have to confess, I felt pretty stupid talking to a guy for advice, when this particular guy couldn't even help himself. Maybe because I've always taken pride in doing everything for _myself? _Thus, I blurted the last part of the sentence out real quick: "I was wondering if you could gimme some advice?"

He kept staring at me with his trademark "hard-ass" look. It was impossible to tell if he was listening, or just trying to blast my head to smithereens by staring.

"Uh...hello? Anyone in there?" I waved a hand in front of his face, only to have him seize me by the wrist and slam my arm back on the table.

"OW! Hey, what'd you do that for? D'ya think I was gonna rip your face off or something?"

Zane let go of my wrist and instantly fell back into the stare. This time, however, he spoke: "I was just checking to see if you were serious."

I pinched the spot between my eyes. "As incredible as this is, I _am _asking for help."

"You, the great Aster Phoenix? Need _my _help? That's a laugh," he scoffed. "Why not go ask your creepy manager for it?"

"But that's just it! The problem is about him! Ever since I freed him from the influence of the Wave of Light-"

"When you say _you _freed him, you mean _Yuki _did it, right?"

"Shut up and listen!" I snapped. Jesus, he wasn't even there; how would he know about the true story? "As I was saying, ever since _I _freed him from the Wave of Light, Sartorius's been...oh man, why did I choose to talk to you? You probably don't care-"

"No, no, go on, Phoenix. You start something, you finish it. Besides, it does me good to know somebody's more miserable than me. Not that I am." _Gee, thanks for that._

I shot Zane a glare before continuing. "Yeah...well...anyhow...it's not me who's miserable. Sartorius has been avoiding all kinds of light, at all times. Shine a flashlight, and he'll run into his room and lock himself in there. He won't go outside anymore, for crying out loud. I'm...worried about him."

I waited a minute or two for a response. And I got one: "So...what do you want _me _to do about it? He's your manager, not mine."

"All I want is to ask if you can recommend a good shrink for 'im to see. Particularly one that does house calls. Maybe give me the name of the guy you're seeing?"

I think I might've offended him, because right after that, he narrowed his already-narrowed eyes into two teeny slits, like he was squinting. "Excuse me? Are you implying that I need help? For your information, I'm not seeing _anyone. _Because I don't need to. I'm fine."

_Oh sure. You're a bloodthirsty dueling pitbull who wears eyeliner, and that's all right?_

"I didn't mean anything by that. I just assumed-"

Zane crossed his arms and turned to the side. "Well, I guess you thought wrong, Phoenix. I don't need a shrink. Though I did used to be one."

Beg his pardon? "Uhhh...you? A shrink?? And you call _me _a laugh!"

He put a hand up to silence me. "I thought you'd say that. See, I'm not a _licensed _psychiatrist, but I was the unofficial one, back at school, besides being the top duelist. I'd be standing around at the lighthouse, and people would come over and talk about their burdens 'til they felt better, while I nodded and kept quiet. This one girl, Alexis? When her brother disappeared, she was about as miserable as you are now. She visited me the most, all year around. Good times...

"Not that it matters too much to me anymore, however. I'll bet it doesn't matter to you, either." Zane picked up his glass, wet with condensation, and took another sip.

Wow, man. How could anyone guess that? "Zane Truesdale's got a heart? Holy crap."

"So I suppose now you'll be asking for my help? As the doc?"

I wasn't sure if I could trust him. Whether he was telling the truth or not, Zane was still a nutcase. What if he'd only make Sartorius worse, like turn him into another dueling pitbull? Plus, why would he offer to help me, when all he thought about was himself and his constant need to gratify his victory-fetish?

That's what I asked him: "Why would you help me? Don't you only care about yourself?"

"I do. That's why I'm doing it. It's either that, or I have to drag myself to the studio."

I was afraid to ask what for, but I did anyway.

"They're asking me to star in a Selsun Blue commercial. And I would rather be at your house, helping your creepy manager find himself, then looking like an asshole on T.V., holding up a bottle of cheap dandruff medication."

A short-lived image popped in my head of Truesdale on a couch, saying the company's slogan: _"Never wear black without the blue." _You'd have to admit, he'd look pretty good on one of those. I bit my bottom lip, fighting to stifle a chuckle.

Zane glared at me. "What? You think that's funny?"

"N-No, no, not at all. I understand where you're getting at, and I'm cool with it. There's just one more thing we must discuss...

"I've got a match to attend to tonight. Any chance you can come over a little earlier?"

**_TO BE CONTINUED..._**

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**_I'm sorry, but that's all I have for now. Am I going to get arrested/ sued/ banned from the site for mentioning Selsun Blue? Because I don't want that to happen. _**

**_Oh, and if anyone has a flame, please throw it at me. Just let me know what I'm doing wrong. It's one thing to flame because of a mistake I've made, but to flame without cause..._**


	4. What Was I Thinking?

**_Disclaimer: _I do not own any/ all fictional entities in this segment. I rented them. Also, La-Z-Boy is a brand of comfy chairs I'm vaguely familiar with; I do not own them, either. **

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**I was thinking about stretching out the chapters, Reaper, now that you mention it. Just playing it small at first, to see if anyone would read. But since we're reaching the middle of the story, it's time to double the word count. **

**Ohhh...criticism without reason is a flame? I'm sorry, I thought "flame" was the slang word for it. Am I a jerk, or what? **

**And I wouldn't worry about Zane. There's a rule about seeing a shrink: once the time is up, you must pay them, no matter what. You will see what I mean in this installment.****

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**

**_Part IV_**

"Is he here yet?" I asked Sarina, who was peeking through the shades to see if Zane was coming.

"No sign, Aster. Are you sure this 'Zane' figure can help Sartorius with his phobia? Because I think I recall that you said he was a 'jerk'."

I checked my watch for the sixth time in the past half an hour. "C'mon, man," I muttered. I sure hoped he wasn't just going to screw me and not show up. In the meantime, Sarina went off to fetch our light-fearing friend.

My hoping finally paid off ten minutes later, when I heard a knock at the door. Seven knocks to be exact, that sounded like that tune, "Shave and a Haircut". Guess Zane wanted to let me know it was he himself standing outside.

When I opened the door, the first words out of my mouth were, "Jesus, Truesdale! You're here early! Why couldn't you take more of your sweet, freaking time to get over here?"

Unfortunately, I wasn't the only master of sarcasm in this city. "Oh please, Phoenix. It's not my fault that a two-year-old can write better directions than you."

That's when I noticed the apparatus he was carrying. In one hand was some sort of briefcase and a clipboard. In the other was a plain black umbrella.

"What's with the umbrella? There's not even a cloud in the sky."

But that went unanswered when Zane handed me the clipboard. "Here. You might want to look at this first, before I begin." Guess what was attached?

A crisp, clean bill.

"A_ bill?! _I never agreed to pay you any fee!" He was trying to screw me, after all. I should've known.

"And you have a Ph.D. degree? You should know the rules: once the therapy time is up, you have to pay the doctor. It's the law. Just wanted you to see the bill first, so you can get the hissy-fit over with."

Well, he was a rich professional duelist; why would he want more money? Besides, I thought getting out of advertising a shampoo was payment enough?

"I don't hafta pay you!"

Zane only smirked. "You didn't think I was charitable, did you? I'm sure you can lighten the load in your pockets; at least then you can keep your pants up. But, if you really want to be a cheap miser, I'll understand. Guess you don't need me." He started to turn and walk down the hallway.

Damn that Truesdale. "Wait, come back!" I paused to take a deep, reluctant breath, while reaching for my wallet. "How much do I owe?"

He came strolling back to the doorway. "Well, there's the rate of seventy bucks an hour...plus a hundred for booking me...another hundred for making me go to this dump you call an apartment...oh, and then there's the reluctance charge."

" 'Reluctance charge'? And that is...?"

"I charge an extra one-hundred eighty to people I don't like. Just to remind you: I'm not doing this because we're friends." Wonder if he did this to his classmates, too?

"All in all, your total cost should be...let's see, carry the one...precisely five-hundred twenty dollars."

_WHAAAT?! _He couldn't be serious! Nobody charged _that _much for one appointment, did they?

"I'm not paying that much, you capitalist!"

"Fine. No money, no honey." He turned to depart again.

"Wait, come back!" I groaned, fishing for my wallet. _Truesdale, for your sake, this better be worth every penny. _

"Oh, not yet. You don't have to pay 'til after I'm done with him. It'll give you a while to bid your fat wad of twenties an emotional farewell."

* * *

With our shoes left by the doorway, Zane and I were inside. He was glancing all around, frowning. "Why's everything so dark in here? Can't you turn a light on?" 

"I just told you, we can't do that."

"Oh, well," Zane shrugged. "My magic works better in dim light, anyhow. Let's see the nutjob, shall we?"

I was going to shout at him about calling Sartorius a nutjob, when Sarina entered the den, leading her confused brother out by the hand. "Wh-what's going on, sister?"

"Sssh, don't worry, brother. We're not sending you away. See? Aster found someone that can help you."

He and Zane locked eyes for a minute or two: Sartorius looked like a rabbit in front of an approaching predator, Zane like an ill-tempered wolf. Already, I was beginning to question myself: _what the hell was I thinking? _

Gradually, my frightened friend gave a timid wave of his bony fingers. "H-hello? My name's S-S-Sartorius. What's yours?"

"Zane Truesdale..._Doctor _Zane Truesdale." For crying out loud, now he getting big-headed about it?

"Wait, aren't you the one Aster defeated in that one duel? I-I didn't know you were a doctor."

Zane clenched his teeth at the mentioning of that one duel, but quickly regained his stone-cold expression. "Truthfully, I'm not licensed. But I do have experience. Go on, take a seat." Sartorius looked unsure of himself, so Sarina guided him to the sofa. He didn't sit down; he just lay still, stretched across the sofa like a plank of wood. He folded his hands over his chest.

Sarina slipped a pillow behind his head, to help soothe his nerves. "You'll be all right. The nice psychiatrist will listen to you and give you advice to conquer your fear." She sounded like a mother soothing her child. "And Aster and I will be with you."

"Actually, miss, I'll have to ask you and Phoenix to leave."

"Beg your pardon?"

"I can't help the guy unless we have a heart-to-heart session with just the two of us. My mojo only works that way. How's about taking a seat in the kitchen, hmm?"

"Um, all right. We'll be in the kitchen, brother. Don't you fret...please." She turned for the kitchen area, but I lingered. Was it really all that safe to leave Sartorius alone with Zane? What if he just screwed him up worse? He already had issues of his own. Plus, he was bleeding me dry!

"You still here, Phoenix? Go on, scoot! We'll be just fine, won't we...what's-your-name?"

"S-Sartorius?" My friend had that pleading look in his amethyst eyes, as if silently begging me not to leave him stranded on the couch with a stranger. But after about a minute's worth of staring, I flashed him a reluctant thumbs-up, and tiptoed to the kitchen. Maybe I could listen to the whole conversation from there?

Sarina was already at the table, nose buried in a professional duelist's magazine. The expression on her face, however, told me that she was more concerned about what Truesdale was doing to her brother than whether the rumors on Mr. Joe Blow were true (no, seriously, that was his real name!).

"Don't worry too much about it," I whispered. "I'm listening to it all. If Truesdale starts unloading crap about becoming just like him or something, I'll chase him out."

"Chase him out? He appears quite sensible to me."

I passed a twisted look at her. She had no idea...

* * *

I peeked one ear out into the hallway, to pick up their speech. Truesdale was kicking it off with, "So you're Phoenix's troubled buddy. He already told me what your problem was, but perhaps I should ask from your perspective? In case this could be another case of Munchausen syndrome by proxy." 

_Oh, please! I'm paying you, aren't I? _

"I'm not familiar with that illness, but I don't think I have that. Rather, I feel...how would you say...edgy, like one may feel when they know they're being stalked."

"Mmm? And who do you think is 'stalking' you?"

Silence.

"I-it's not a 'who', really. It's a 'what'. It's the...evil L-word." He said that last part softly.

"What 'L-word'? There are a bunch of L-words out there, buddy! Be more specific: is it leopard? Ladybug? Lasagna? Leotard?"

_Oh God, please don't say-_

"Is it the...opposite of darkness, that's stalking you?" _Phew! _Jesus, he scared me for a minute there. If he'd actually said it, he'd never get Sartorius back out of his room.

"Ah, yes. I cannot possibly decribe the terror of forever being persued by it, especially since there's a lot of it going about. I can't even go outside because I fear I'll be abducted."

Funny, I thought I could detect a faint snicker come from Zane. Narrowing my eyes into slits, I leaned in a little closer. If he laughed at you, he knew how to keep it hidden. "So, how was this fear born?"

Sartorius took a deep breath. "I suppose it all started when I was small. My sister and I were orphans who lived on the street, barely getting by with my ability to read...tarot cards. Back then, I was wishing that..._it _would shine on us.

"But I recieved more than I bargained for when a stranger gave me a card after reading for him. Because the next thing I knew, I was a Hitler knock-off, obsessing to 'cleanse' the world with _it. _My friends managed to rescue me, but I've hardly been myself since then. Even now, with everything dark, I can feel..._it, _breathing on the hairs of my neck."

More silence. Zane was probably using the "nodding-your-head-and-keeping-quiet" trick. This was weird; he hadn't mouthed off about how pathetic he was and how he should set his sights to the pleasure of pain. What was going on? Maybe, if I lean a little further out...

Now I could see Zane on _my_ La-Z-Boy armchair. I never said he could sit in my La-Z-Boy, but that wasn't so important as what he was going to tell Sartorius.

"Okay. Do you get nightmares?"

"Yes. Everyone in the building would know it."

"Do you avoid all social situations?"

"Yes."

"Have trouble sleeping?"

"Of course."

"Suffer from enuresis?"

"Pardon?"

"Do you involuntarily piss yourself in bed?"

Oh, great! Now he was humiliating him! Keep this up, and I was bound to kick his ass even worse than before. Sartorius made a deep gulp, then replied meekly: "Occasionally."

Zane made these drawn-out "mm-hm" sounds, bobbing his head as though he was trying to catch some winks.

"There's something else, as well, Doctor. I feel that I've become a rock around Sarina and Aster's necks. I was one when I was possessed, but I think I've collected more minerals, if you know what I mean. It's not like I enjoy being the helpless one around here. I just wish there was a way _it _would disappear...because I want to stay here, not get sent away..."

_Sartorius, get off this "sending away" fixation! _

"I see. Well, after listening to all you've said, I've come to a conclusion."

"Which is?"

"Buddy, you've got it messed up out the yin-yang." Why was I not surprised he'd say that? Okay, that pretty much did-

"However, it's not too late to pick yourself back up. I was like you, at one time." _Oh, no..._

"Aster, is something the matter?" Sarina asked from behind.

"Ssssh!"

Unfortunately, Sartorius had just started nibbling at the bait. "Y-you were possessed by _it_, too?"

"Not really. Though I was a scared little wimp, like you are now. After Mr. Stick-Up-His-Ass-ter Phoenix defeated me, my career went down the John. Loss after loss after loss...goddamn, it's a wonder that I didn't go suicidal. But after a while, I was getting tired of being a doormat. So you know what I did?"

"What'd you do?"

_Don't you dare! _

Zane stood up and beat his chest, with his foot on _my _La-Z-Boy. "I faced my fear of being trapped in loser-dom, looked it right between the eyes, and _destroyed _it! And because I did, I'm the king, and everyone loves me! Simple as that." Zane was a king, all right. King of the Jerkwads (I had a worse title for him in mind, but we need to keep this story sensible and Teen-rated).

"Wow...kind Doctor, how do I do that? I think I want to destroy my fear, too!"

Enough was enough. I dashed out of the kitchen before Sarina could say anything more, and skidded to a halt. "Dude, I'm paying you to _fix _him, not transform him into a maniacal Goth wanna-be!"

Truesdale shot me his trademark glare. "What're you doing back out? Our time's not over yet. How would you know I was doing that?"

Sartorius sat up on the sofa, twiddling his thumbs. "Aster, Doctor Truesdale says I must face my fear and destroy it. He's going to show me how!"

"Oh no, he's not! I won't let him!"

"Now I thought you wanted me to fix him?"

"Yes, Aster. You said I needed help." Well, this was a nice puddle of mayhem I just poured more crap into.

"I don't think you trust me enough, Phoenix. That's your problem. All I wanna do is help your troubled pal here to see the true light."

"Light? _Light?! WAAAAAH! Don't let it get me!" _Faster than a bullet, Sartorius scrambled to his feet and sprinted for his room, tripping over himself several times. Noticing the commotion just now, Sarina hopped out of the kitchen and took off after him. Leaving Zane and I face-to-face.

You know what he had to say about it? He just gave a tiny smirk, stretched out his hand, and said:

"Whoa. I'll take that as the signal that our time is up, for now. Time to pay up."

**_TO BE CONTINUED..._**

* * *

**_There. I hope that was exceptionally longer. Or does it need more length? _**

**_Did I put in too much dialogue? And did I just break the fourth wall, while I was at it? Like I said before, I am open to _constructive criticism. _That, and I can't think of what to do for my other "chappie stories". I'll get a brainstorm eventually, but 'til then, this should keep you satiated. _**


	5. When You Spend Too Much Time With Yuki

**_Disclaimer: _I do not own any/ all fictional entities in this segment. I rented them.

* * *

**

Sorry if there's practically no duel here. But I was never all that great when it came to writing them.

Isn't it funny, how Jaden's not even in this story, and he can still screw up a guy's day, whether he meant to or not? They should put a label on him: "Prolonged exposure can implant moronic tendencies into your brain"!

In this chapter, I'm not talking about Belowski, the stoner kid with the Moke-Moke. This is an entirely different guy, I promise. I completely forgot about that kid by the time I finished this...half-baked chap. Don't wanna change it, though.

* * *

**_Part V_**

I left the apartment at six-thirty that evening, for my match. Sartorius and Sarina used to follow, to cheer me on, but not this time. She promised me that she would cheer for me via TV, and that her brother would not be any trouble.

I sure hoped Zane was proud of himself. Maybe I should just counsel Sartorius on my own? I did have a Ph.d., after all. But then, when could I ever find the time? Not to try to gain any pity, but the life of a Pro was a work-out on the sanity by itself. The matches, the paparazzi, the fans begging for autographs on posters, the girls who offer themselves as groupies...I was too young to have groupies! Plus, I had my dignity to protect.

Still, Sartorius's health meant a lot more than my career. Surely I could try talking to him after the match? During the drive, I thought about the events from earlier, and prayed Zane didn't screw him up that much.

_Ah, I kicked him out of the house before he told him how to "destroy his fear". Surely that's too vague to do any real damage? _

My limo braked in front of the stadium, and squealing fans with cameras and notepads were already there waiting. Predictable. Dan, my irritable chauffeur and bodyguard, stomped out first, opening the door for me. He marched around me in circles as I strolled into the building.

"Aye! Steep away firm Mr. Phoenix, the 'ole lotta ye!" he shouted in his gruff Scottish accent. "Lest I knock ye all o'er th' noodle with m' bagpipes!"

"Uh, thanks, Dan. But I don't think that'll be nessessary." I was on my way to a duel, which meant I needed to drop the phobia matter, for now, and get my game on.

Holy crap, I've been spending too much time with Yuki.

* * *

My opponent for tonight was none other than Joe Blow (his real last name was Belowski, but whatever). He was a pudgy kind of guy, and about twice my size. Why, if you looked at him and squinted, he looked a lot like a bowling ball, his chunky legs like pins. There were rumors circulating that he was having some thing with his ball shiner. 

Mustering all the poise I still had, I sauntered into the arena, shielding my eyes from the damn gaudy fireworks that detonated all around me. Why'd they have to make it feel like I was creeping across a minefield, every single time? All we were doing was playing a card game on T.V; this wasn't a Pink Floyd concert!

When the smoke cleared, the audience was screaming their lungs out...and their tonsils.

"Go, Phoenix!"

"Yeah! Joe Blow blows!"

"Marry me, Aster!"

"Can we be friends with benefits?"

I just waved, and tried to work up a smile. Women. They were creepy. Especially when they saw a young, good-looking and rich celebrity. Not to toot my horn or anything.

Joe pointed a thick, accusing finger at me. "Hoo, hoo, hoo, I know you! You're that kid whose roommate keeps everybody up at night! With his hollerin' and screamin' and cryin' like a crybaby! I lost my bowling game 'cause that freakshow's screeching cramped my concentration." I was surprised his skinny ankles weren't cramping on him.

At this point I was about ready to blow. Did EVERYBODY in this freakin' city know about Sartorius's problems? Nosy nobodies-

No. No, I could not afford to lose my head. Not right before a duel. I needed to keep cool. Cool like an icebox.

I really _had _been spending too much time with Jaden.

"Yeah, you lost your dumb bowling ball game. Boo-hoo, cry me a river. Shut up and let's get our game on!" _Oh, not again! _

Blow stared at me like I was some pervert. "Eww, you flirtin' with me? I always thought you were fruity, but that's just crossing the penalty line! That's it, let's bowl!"

"You mean duel?"

"Whatever. Queer."

* * *

It didn't take that long to score a strike, so to speak. After about five turns (I started first by winning the coin toss), I ended up cleaning the guy's clock with old Destiny Hero Plasma. That card, I held dearly. 

"Plasma, attack Joe's Life Points directly!" Its 1900 Attack Points were certainly more than enough to do the job. In just a blink, Blow was on the ground, enveloped in smoke. I stood back watching, and frowning. This guy was nothing but a joke. What happened to all the competent duelists, I ask you? The duel I had with Zane lasted at least _ten _turns!

Inevitably, the crowd went beserk. Some tossed their peanuts in the air, like they were throwing confetti. Others stomped their feet to make the whole stadium quake. Other still threw stuff at the loser: from bananas, to crumpled paper, to pillows. Those were from the more polite fans, too.

"Ooh, it looks like Phoenix got the strike this time!" exlaimed the commentator. "Hang on, looks like Belowski's having problems getting up!" What can I say? That's what you get when you're as round as a bowling ball. He was on his back, flailing his limbs in all directions and cursing like a sailor. Still, seeing him look like an upturned turtle triggered a tiny spark of pity for Mr. Blow. I wasn't a jerk "with a stick shoved up my ass", despite what you might hear from haters. They only hated me because they were jealous.

_Moving on..._

I went over to Blow and offered a hand, trying to keep a stiff upper lip.

"Get yer filthy, queer hand away from me! For all I know, you've been usin' it to fist your roommate at night!" Oh, just because I said "get our game on", that automatically made me gay? Then again, the oblivious genius behind that phrase was always a little odd. That could explain why he spent so much time around males. And why he'd shy away from females.

"Dude, I'm as straight as a ruler. It's safe to touch my hand, really."

Blow started to scoot on his back, his inflated face twisted into a grimace. "That's what they all say, kid. I may have a thing goin' on with my caddy, but compared to your situation, that's nothing! Least it's a woman!"

* * *

"...And then he said, 'Least I'm doing it with a woman'!" I sighed, slumping as far as I could into my La-Z-Boy. I usually never slumped, but after tonight, and the weeks before, I really could use a moment or three to be lazy. 

Sarina stood by my right, patting my shoulder. "There, there, Aster. It can't be that bad, right? He just said that because you beat him. Very quickly, might I add."

I pinched the spot between my eyes. What if Blow went squealing to the paparazzi? Those worms eat up any story that falls on their ears, whether it was true or not. I could see it on the cover of the tabloid, tomorrow morning, in giant bold letters: **"IS PHOENIX A FRUITY FAG??" **

I'd better make a note to cut Jaden's nuts off, the next time I see him.

Hold on. Tell me that doesn't sound like something a gay would do.

Maybe I should get off that topic, for now? What about Sartorius?

"Sarina? How was he?"

She shook her head. "He still hasn't come out of his room. I passed him his dinner through the doggy door. But I don't know if he ate it. Too dark in there to see. He's been so quiet." He'd been coming out of his room less and less, so we had to install a doggy door to give him food through. If this kept up, we'd have to put a litter box in there, too.

I decided to let him know that I was home, regardless of whether he even knew that I left. Pushing myself out of my seat, I ambled out of the den and stumbled down the dark hallway, groping the walls to navigate my way to his room.

When I reached it, I knocked. No answer.

"Hey...Sartorius? I'm home."

Nothing.

I got down on my knees and peeked into the flap. "Anyone in there?"

Thought I saw a shadow scurry into a corner.

"Sartorius?"

"Is that you, Aster?" he squeaked, as softly as a breath.

"Who else? You all right in there? Did you eat?"

"Yes."

"You haven't been going on the carpet in there, have you?" Hey, I just needed to be sure.

"...N-no." He sounded a little too hesitant on that one.

Silence.

"Aster? I was thinking about what Dr. Truesdale said, about destroying my fear." Oh crap, he wasn't thinking about being just like the guy, was he?

"Zane's not really a doctor. He has no idea what he's talking about."

"Then how come you paid five hundred and twenty dollars to have him talk to me?" Oh, man! See? If you don't take care of it yourself, this is what you get.

"Well, see, I...he told me that he's spoken to people before. And..."

"Do you agree with him?"

"What?"

"Am I a sissy who's got it all 'screwed up'?"

It was my turn to be silent. Besides Jaden, Zane was the last guy I'd be willing to agree with. Yet somewhere...in the very back of my head so I wouldn't have to face it...an _eensy, teensy _sliver of me was growing weary of his "needy sissy" act. Yes, I know. How can I think like that about my old friend, do I really care for him, yada yada yada, malarky.

If I said "yes", then Sartorius was going to think I was kicking him out. But if I said "no", that'd just be lying. A lie took a pretty fat toll on my conscience, what with my "fixation on crime-fighting"...which is not a fixation, by the way!

So, I ended up answering something along the lines of both a "yes" and "no":

"Yo?"

How fortunate it was that Sartorius didn't understand a syllable of slang. Still, I felt so stupid for saying it, I wanted to whack myself with a baseball bat.

"Peg your pardon? W-was that a no?"

"Ah, look at the time! I think it's time for bed? G'night, ol' buddy, ol' pal!" Just like that, I got back on my feet and scrambled back to my room, back down the hall. When I did, either it was my imagination, or I could hear soft sniffling behind that doggy door. I stared down at the floor, my hand over my chest. Trying to dull the guilty throb.

Okay, that was it. When I was done administering the baseball bat on myself, I was going to give it to Yuki. Real good.

**_TO BE CONTINUED..._**

* * *

**_Mmm, a little angsty at the end? Yes, I know: where the devil was the all-out outrageous humor that I'm notorious for in this chapter? Let's just say that is a...transition. Trust me, the next one'll be upside-down and inside-out. Cross my heart, hope to die, stick a dirty needle in my eye, and gimme HIV. _**


	6. Tabloids And Terrorists

**_Disclaimer: _I do not own any/ all fictional entities in this segment. I rented them.

* * *

Anyone out there ever had those times when you go weeks and weeks without an idea...then you're struck with a brainstorm? Yeah, that's one reason I'm slow. I'm sorry.**

I think I slipped on characterization on this chap. Also, I think I rushed.

Still, HOORAY FOR LEAP YEAR!

* * *

**_PART VI_**

That night, I kept tossing and turning in my bed, my thoughts keeping me awake - and not just because I'd whacked my head senseless with the old bat. It felt like a drag queen dressed in a skimpy construction worker get-up was operating a jackhammer inside my head, gradually spliting my skull in two. I pinched my temples in a vain attempt to dull the pain. I even buried my whole head under the pillows!

It wasn't just the migraine that bothered me. Everything else did, even more. Joe Blow. The possibility of getting smeared in the tabloids about my mysterious sexual preference. Sartorius. His fear of light. My most unintelligible response to a question popped by my best friend. Come on, "Yo"? Only people like Jaden say that!

Who was I kidding? I said it, too. But to greet people, not to answer a question! And I do the latter for what? Just so I wouldn't hurt my basket case of the friend's feelings?

I sat up and rubbed my temples. Even for me, there are times when you just can't do anything more but to march into the bathroom and take an aspirin. Or perhaps a Tylenol PM? True, drugs provided only temporary relief. But right now, it wouldn't hurt to just lay there in bed and cast my troubles away in Dreamland. If only until the crack of dawn. Besides, I had a shooting to attend to on that day. For some magazine ad, for this new brand of anti-perspirant, "made for only the best duelists".

Honestly, I don't see what an anti-perspirant has to do with dueling...unless some people fear that their odor will knock people out when they draw a card. But I guess that's better than starring in a commercial for a dandruff medication.

Anyhow, I slid out of bed, my half-open eyes trying to adjust to the darkness. Too bad that my head continued to be disagreeable. With one hand, I groped the walls to feel my way out. With the other, I clutched my right temple. I only got halfway there, when suddenly...

_WHOOOSSH! _Felt like somebody's hand was reaching out from under a door and seizing my ankle! In a blink, I found myself face-down on the floor, my brain smashing into the front of my skull. Never even got the chance to yelp in shock or pain. My worst fear was that a fangirl had bypassed the security system and broken into the house (it'd happened before). The fingernails felt long and scratchy enough to indicate this.

Luckily (and somehow_, unluckily_), that wasn't a girl. How did I figure this out? Because a raspy, timid whisper split the silence: "Aster? Is that you?"

_"Sartorius?"_

"Oh, that is you. I'm really sorry, I hadn't meant to give you a heart attack." Between you and me, I don't get heart attacks. Nothing freaks Aster Phoenix out, no matter what you might throw at him. Can anything _startle _him? Maybe, but that's totally different.

I'm referring to myself in third-person, aren't I? I blame that Princeton kid. He's no better than Yuki.

Where was I? Oh, right.

"Are you hurt?"

Well, a metaphorical jackhammer was shattering my head from the inside-out, I could hardly see straight, and now my ankle hurt. Other than that, nothing broken. Still, why did he find it nessessary to reach out from the doggie-door and grab me? He could've just barged into my room and whimpered in my ear, if he needed something. Not like I was trying to catch some sleep.

I didn't ask about that. Instead, I groaned, "What is it, Sartorius?"

"Ahem, well, um, I'm not trying to bother you, or interfere with what you were originally doing. I was just wondering: since you're up...can I have a glass of water?"

_Then why don't you get it, yourself? _

"Sure, sure. But first, may I inquire why you can't get it on your own?" With each passing day, I found it getting more and more difficult to not sound like a Truesdale (this is just a creative way to refer to a jerkwad).

He gulped. "W-Well, _it _is shining through the kitchen window." He had to be talking about that streetlight sitting outside. Funny, I thought we'd hung a curtain in there, just for that? I sighed. Time to be a hero again, I guess.

"Okay, okay, I'll get it. Just let go of my ankle."

"Can you get it from the sink, please? The tap water from the refrigerator is-"

"Yes, I know. Contaminated." I'd just take my pill afterwards. Wasn't like getting a glass of water was a Herculean task, right? Oh, how dead wrong I was.

Trudging into the kitchen (and stubbing my toe on the entryway), I reached for the cupboard to pull out a purple plastic glass with Sparkman printed on it, Spark Gun in hand and ready to fire. Next, I lifted the faucet's handle to the right, for cold water. As I did this, I noticed the window. A white neon light cast an eerie glow all around the room. And those curtains were on the floor.

Hoo, boy. Setting the water on the counter, I picked up the curtains to fasten back in place. Turns out, it's not so easy putting up curtains with just a streetlight for light. I had to climb on top of the counter and crouch by the sink, clumsily fiddling with the top. It was actually supposed to be simple: wedge the bar in place. And I was halfway there, when suddenly...

_FLASH! _

This piercing white light from outside shot me in the eyes! Right out of the blue- or black, in this case! Smudgy dots of green and purple danced the tango, all around the kitchen! To my dismay, I lost my balance and started to tumble back onto the linoleum. Right before then, I grabbed the curtains to hold myself back up, in vain. Before I knew it, I was lying on my back, dizzy out of my wits and wresting with yellow cloth. Got three more jackhammers in my head from the ordeal.

"Aster? Wh-What's going on?"

I tried to answer, only how could I do that with a mouth full of curtain? Come on! I could duel a guy and win in five turns, but I couldn't beat a roll of curtains in wrestling? Perhaps I should consider body-building?

"A-Are you in trouble?"

I expected Sartorius to go run back into his room and cower. And for a strenuous minute, I heard nothing from him (maybe because I was too busy grunting?). By that time, I'm sure I could've freed myself, when from out of the black-

_THUD! THUD! THUD! _Countless bursts of heavy, throbbing pain erupted all over every square inch of my body. Accompanying it were shrieks of sheer terror:

_"WAAAAHH! LET GO OF MY FRIEND, YOU EVIL, FOUL THING! DIE, DIE, DIE!" _

_FLASH! FLASH! FLASH! _

Maybe it was only my imagination, but I thought I heard a booming voice: "HA! I knew it all along! And I've got the smoking pin to prove it!"

Terrified feet dashed into the kitchen. "Brother! What're you doing with that bat?!"

Somehow, in the midst of all this chaos, I managed to worm my old battered self out, just in time to see disheveled Sartorius throw that bat out the window. Not only did it break the window into trillions of shards, it kept gliding in mid-air. Right into the streetlight.

_BAM! _Turned it into a shower of blazing sparks. All the cars parked out there illuminated in all its splendor. The bat cascaded back to earth, as well, conking the head of a huge, round figure that crouched right under the light.

"_AH! _Damn it!"

"Oy! 'Oo goes 'ere, ye trespassin' fool?" That was Dan, standing outside. Seemed he'd been too busy fiddling with his bagpipes to hear what had went on inside. For a Scottish guy, he was kind of scatterbrained. Before long, he went thundering after whoever had made those flashes, spewing a foul stream of curses. The stranger (though I had a pretty good idea who that was) took off as well, not getting twenty feet away without tripping. He cursed, too, which instantly changed to grunting. Why? Because instead of getting up, he started pushing himself down the street; he was practically rolling like a ball!

Of course, I was too smashed up in multiple places to try taking pursuit. All I could do was lay there on the floor, twitching like a dying gerbil. Sarina bent down to pick me up. "What on earth were you boys doing?" she demanded.

"S-Sister, I was just...I was- I was only trying to rescue Aster from _it! It _had him all wrapped up in its foul embrace, like a bun around a sausage! With mustard."

"Like a hot dog?"

"What dog? I'm talking about a sausage. Either way, I could not bear to just watch _it _turn Aster into a lump of evil meat! And who knows what's put into those, anyhow?" Sartorius paused, like he was suddenly coming to an astonishing revelation. I could tell because his eyes got as big as golf balls.

"Say...I rescued Aster from _it. _I rescued him from _it! I rescued him from IT! I RESCUED HIM FROM IT!" _Oh no, tell me this wasn't another giant meltdown.

"Aster, Sarina! I think I've realized what Dr. Truesdale meant when he said to face my fear and destroy it!"

_He's not a doctor, for the last dad-gummed time! _

Did I just think of the word 'dad-gummed'? I just had to twitch at that. Dumb Hassleberry. Everyone at Duel Academy was dumb...so why was I beginning to talk like them? Stupidity's like the flu, apparently: severely contagious, but without a shot for it. None that I know of, at least.

"I-I did it! I saved you, Aster!" He pressed a hand against his chest. "Suddenly, I sense this fiery burst of energy, right here. It...it feels incredible. I feel like a hero. Is this how you felt when you saved me?"

_Well, I did feel one thing, back then: crummy. As in, I was crumbling to dust. _

My poor, delusional friend looked up at the ceiling, making a tiny and painfully awkward smile. "This had to be what Dr. Truesdale meant!" He dashed for the window and tore it open.

"You hear that, foul beast? I have saved my friend from your bright, hellish grasp! And I will save the _entire world _from you, too! VENGEANCE!"

Somewhere outside, a guy shouted, "Aw, shuddup, you big jackass!"

Sarina stepped over me and pulled her brother back in my the collar of his pajamas before he could shout back. "Okay, that's enough! Everyone back to bed!" She gave me a droopy, tired look as she bent over to scoop me up into her arms.

* * *

How fortunate that Sartorius hadn't really broken anything, or caused any internal bleeding. He was too pitifully weak to hit that hard. But one thing was sure: I sure ached the next morning. All over. My headache had hardly gotten any better. And I had bandages and an ice pack here and there to prove it.

"I'm not so sure you should partake in that shooting, Aster," said Sarina, switching the ice pack from my head to my shoulder while I sat up in bed. "Not in this state."

I reached out and weakly wriggled my fingers. In response, she handed me an aspirin and a glass of water. She tried helping me swallow it, but I shook my head. "No, thank you. I'm not completely helpless." I told her she could leave me be. After what happened the night before, Sartorius was probably going to do something crazy. He hadn't emerged from his room all morning, but I figured somebody needed to watch him, just for a while.

She nodded. "Call if you need anything." So she left. I took a second aspirin.

But no sooner had I done so, I thought I heard a voice, taunting me:

"And if you take some more of those, you will get an overdose, then no more running for the shelter of the duelist's little helper..."

_Huh? _I looked to the window. Okay, maybe I'd taken too many pills, because I was sure I was seeing a hallucination...of Truesdale floating outside it, _with that stupid black umbrella! _

"WHOA!" I yanked the covers over my head, just for a second. Expecting the hallucination to be gone, I took them off again. He was still floating there, with that unpleasantly Grinchy smirk of his. I rubbed my eyes furiously.

"You can quit it, Phoenix. I'm about as real as your manager's disturbed. What's with all the bandages?"

"I had a bad night, awright? And I'm going to stay as vague about that as you usually do. What're you doing here? And how the hell are you-"

"Like my umbrella? I bought it on E-Bay from some old British woman. You should get one, too. It's perfect for evading the paparazzi and fangirls...unless they have harpoons or something."

I put a hand under my chin to keep my jaw from falling off and looking any more idiotic. Trying so hard to ignore the umbrella thing, I asked, "Well? What do you want? Came back over to shake five-hundred twenty more bucks off of me?"

He shook his head, then fished out something from his jacket. "Open the window."

A good half of my mind pleaded and begged me not to accept anything more from Truesdale. But guess what? I pushed myself out of bed, despite all the aching, and limped over to the window. I opened it. And the instant I did, he shoved a magazine in my face. What was he trying to do, scratch up my face with papercuts?

I shook him off, then yanked it out of his hands with an irritable scowl. But just glancing at the cover made me wish immediately that I hadn't taken it. Because guess what?

Yeah, it was the newest installment of the tabloid, Dueling Dirt. Guess what was on the cover?

**IS PHOENIX A FRUITY FAG?? **

Below the bold white letters was a portrait of yours truly, as well as a couple of fuzzy pics of the outside of my apartment. With Sartorius's shadow in the window.

There are times when you feel good about being right. And then there are times when you feel crappy about it, especially when you could've done something so that you were wrong. Right now, it felt like all my organs fell out onto the floor, with my brain at the top of the pile.

I glanced up at Truesdale, pursing my lips. If I showed any sign of embarrassment, he'd never let me live it down. "Well, Truesdale! I thought you were above reading this sensationalist garbage?"

"It's about you, Phoenix. The whole city, and possibly the whole world, is suspicious of your secret life as a queer. Then again, I've always sensed that. Polished fingernails, sissy grey hair that reeks of jasmine and lilac, a wardrobe consisting of monkey suits and ties, the fact that you live with a creepy older man...I could just float here forever, if you'd like." Okay, how did he know what my hair smells like? Did he have a perverted habit of smelling people like some sort of mutt?

"Yeah, well, what's this have to do with you?"

"Look in the article."

Thumbing through the crisp pages, I skimmed over the slanderous story...or at least, most of it, before I felt like throwing up.

_Aster Phoenix, one of Pro League's best- and youngest- dueling legends, has been dubbed by ladies and gentlemen alike (though mostly ladies) as an "untouchable hunk, and such a gentleman! And mysterious, and hot! Did we mention he was hot?" _

Something told me that a woman wrote this crap.

_But could there be another face to the salacious, suave lady-slayer? A fruitier, FAGGIER face? _

How could "faggier" be a real word? Anyhow, the whole article rambled on like that, for six and a half pages. I skimmed over the the page about the duel with Joe Blow (_"That queer kid ruined my concentration, I tell ya! He was comin' on to me! I've never seen anyone who was so straightforward!"_).

And the page about how Blow got more brutal evidence by taking vague pictures of my roommate whacking me like a mole at the arcade (_Could it be that Edo is also a kinky masochist, who sleeps with his manager?_).

Oh, and how could I neglect to tell you the part about an "anonymous" stranger seeing Truesdale go into my apartment (_Looks like he's not just a killer among ladies! Even Goth guy Zane Truesdale wants to tap into his alluring ass!_).

That was enough. I didn't waste any time tearing that infested book of lies into bits (though it killed my fingers to do it). Afterwards, I picked up the pieces, waddled into the bathroom, and flushed it all down the toilet, where it belonged. It all clumped together and blocked the hole up. Nothing the trusty plunger couldn't fix...kind of. Even with the hole unclogged, there were soggy, pasty bits here and there, and the toilet kept making weird gurgling noises. I'd clean that up later.

Eventually, I came back, dusting my hands triumphantly. "What'd you have to show me that for, Truesdale?"

"Well, now people think _I _might be gay along with you." He said that like it was nothing, but the scowl on his face said otherwise. "Thanks for that."

"How's that my fault? You're the one who wanted to see Sartorius so you wouldn't have to star in a Selsun Blue ad." Seriously, sometimes I've suspected that Zane might actually be queer. Not as queer as Jaden, but still queer. I mean, everything about him said so: the tight and glamourously black clothes he wore every day, the Dragons in his deck that were shaped like shafts, his long girly hair...oh, and the whole umbrella thing.

Before we could argue any further, I heard a herd of click-clacking pumps and flashing cameras, far below us. That could only mean one thing..._the paparazzi! _

"You're on your own, Phoenix." That was all he said. One moment, he was there. The next, he had vanished, over my head, and over the rooftop.

I hoped a bolt of lightning struck him. If not that, I'd be content with a flock of pigeons pecking him to death. Or, maybe it was best to just forget ever seeing him.

In the meantime, I slammed the windows shut and drew the curtains. I wasn't obligated to answer them, and if I ignored them long enough, they'd have to leave. Too bad Sarina had to go answer the door when they came up and knocked. She's courteous like that.

"Er, hello?"

Hundreds of prodding, nosy questions and white flashes exploded at once, like a great array of missiles. My gut twisted into a Celtic knot. Sarina had no chance against the paparazzi and their incessant inquiring. I had no choice to ease myself into some comfortable clothing, take a third aspirin, and amble my way down the hall.

"Miss, could you tell us what it's like to live with a homosexual?"

"Is Aster Phoenix really sleeping with his mysterious manager?"

"What's going on with him and Truesdale?"

"Is he doing them both?"

And all poor Sarina could say in response was, "Who are you people?"

Dan came lumbering up behind them, cursing at them to back off. He even threatened to "knock them over their noodles with his pipes". His words fell on deaf ears. Or rather, dumb ears.

I was almost there to shoo them off, when the sound of a door tearing open sent me tumbling backward. I didn't get to see much, but what I could see looked like a streak of baby blue bedsheets shooting out of there, clutching something long and steely grey. Whatever- no, _whoever_- that was, flailed his limbs about and screamed like a banshee. He braked at the corner, just for a moment, shifting his weapon in between his sweaty palms.

"Awright, Sartorius," I heard him pant, sounding nervous out of his wit. "You can do this. Save your baby sister from _it, _no matter what! And whatever you may do, don't look it straight in the eyes..._LIGHT, LIGHT, GO AWAY! AND NEVER COME AGAIN, I SAY!" _

_Aw, crap, please tell me he's not about to..._

"Sartorius, wait!" I scrambled to my feet after him. Felt like everything was in slow motion. And for some reason, I was in even slower motion than my freaked-out friend. I barely reached him with my middle finger...

when he succeeded in climbing over the sofa and leaping into mid-air, toppling it in the process...

and making bone-shattering contact between the bat and the first ten or so faces in the crowd, frantically hacking at them as Link would at Ganondorf.

**_TO BE CONTINUED..._**

* * *

**_BEHOLD, THE DREADED CLIFF-HANGER! Oh, you won't be hanging for too long. Hopefully. _**

**_...I fail at life, yes?_**

_"Yep." _


	7. Arrested By Fangirls

**_Disclaimer: _I do not own any/ all fictional entities in this segment. I rented them. **

**_PART VII_**

"DIE, DIE, DIE!"

Sarina was on the ground because her brother had startled her so much. She sat there, paralyzed with fear, and watched Sartorius land right in the middle of the mass and blindly swing his baseball bat (well, originally it was _my _baseball bat) in circles, like Destiny Hero Blade Master on crack. The walls shook with terrified shrieks and agonizing wails. Cameras shattered to smithereens and littered the floor. Everybody who lived on our floor and three floors below us poked their heads out of windows and doors, threatening to call the cops.

I could've tried pulling him out of there myself...and risk getting my head smashed open like a watermelon. So I went with the alternative: as quickly as I could, I scurried around the apartment, tearing open drawers and cupboards.

_Come on, Kyle! You must've left that thing somewhere before you went to go burn in Hell! _Kyle, or "The D", as his fans called him, was my guardian after my father died. He was also a thieving, conniving, weasel-molesting bastard if whom had never existed, I'd still have a father! (Please, even a cool cucumber like myself could never _entirely_ get over that.) The only thing I credit him for now is giving me Plasma.

I found the thing I was looking for in the linen closet, wrapped in a fluffy blue towel and tucked in the very back so I couldn't get my mitts on it when I was a kid. I'm talking about his tranquilizer gun. Why did he have one of those, you ask? Well...I'm not going into details, but it had to do with the little..._episodes _I used to have every now and then; just natural grieving behavior you might see in young children who've lost their parents, only _slightly_ more exaggerated. When a guy's shooting darts into your butt to shut you up, it's obvious that he couldn't care less about you (except in this case; I wouldn't be doing this if I didn't care about my friend).

Alas! I was young, and naive, and so trusting...

Ahem, excuse me. I wouldn't like to bore you with more details on my tragic childhood. _Moving on! _

I yanked out the gun and unwrapped it, checking to see if it still had ammo in it; just one dart, which was miraculous in and of itself. Better make this count.

Almost like a sniper, I shimmied against the walls and held my breath as I peeked around the corner. Sartorius was still blindly whacking away and squealing like a runty piglet, but the pap actually had the sense to get the hell out of here. Now he just bashed holes into the wall, bits of camera crackling under his feet. Sarina still wouldn't move a muscle; she was too scared to get her head smashed off her neck like a tee ball. I could tell because she had her arms over her head and everything.

I somersaulted behind the upset sofa and leaned over it, aiming at my friend's behind. This wasn't necessarily easy to do, because he kept flailing around like a carp out of water. Or maybe it was because the gun kept shaking in my hands. Concentration oozed from my forehead in the form of beads of sweat. My pulse roared in my ears, as well as Sartorius's shrieking.

I squeezed the trigger...

**_BLAM! _**

I tumbled backward on the recoil. Once again, everything fell into slow motion. I couldn't see where the dart flew--on account of my eyes were closed--but after six seconds (which could've actually been two), I heard a yelp.

I got him, right in the butt-crack. And with my eyes closed, too.

Man, I'm _good_.

Brushing the hair out of my eyes, I got up on my feet. "Sarina, are you okay?"

"Y-Yes, I think so. Oh no, Sartorius!" No sooner had I helped her to her feet, she dashed for her unconscious brother, who lay face-down with his rear in the air. The bat remained loosely entwined in his hand.

"Hey, it's all right! I just knocked him out with a tranquilizer dart. He'll come to in an hour, maybe two."

"A dart? Aster, he's not a wild animal!"

"No...but you have to admit, he sure acted like one."

She knelt down and buried her face in her hands. "Oh, if only I'd stopped him. If only I hadn't been so paralyzed with fear. I'm a terrible sister."

I'd be afraid, too, if the guy was swinging a bat around like a blood-drunk Spartan. Okay, not really, because like I said before, I don't get scared. But when you're dealing with girls--when they're in distress, not when they're throwing marriage proposals and underwear at you--you usually comfort them with sensitivity and empathy. Or at least, fake it, if you can't actually achieve the feeling. Feigning empathy is a delicate art; I'm one of those guys who's a master at it.

I lowered myself to her level and rested a hand on her shoulder. "Sarina, you're _not _a bad sister. The paparazzi are gone, Sartorius has, er, calmed down, and nobody died. In fact, I'd count my blessings. At least you have a sibling." Not to say that people haven't crawled out of the woodwork to claim that they were my relatives. Talk about embarrassment in the first degree. One lady even popped out of the blue, saying that she was my mother! I saw no resemblance...even though I've never met my mother.

Am I boring you again? My apologies. Anyways, I was on my way of helping Sarina in getting her brother to bed, when suddenly--

"Is this the Phoenix residence?" a voice boomed. Without even giving us a warning, two policewomen hovered over us. They wore these stern looks on their faces, the kind you might see when you're in trouble and they know it. I should recognize it because I used to flash this expression to many people.

Unsure of what else to say, I answered, "Uh...yeah?"

One of them glared at sleeping Sartorius. "Bev, I think that's our perp. How 'bout you?"

"Well, he's got a baseball bat, and he's wrapped in sheets. Sure looks crazy enough to disturb the peace, Flossie. Let's take him into custody." Before I knew it, the two lunged in and snatched Sartorius out of our hands and cuffed him, even though they didn't really need to.

My gut tied itself up like a balloon animal, a poodle, to be exact. Sartorius could never survive in the big house! "What?!"

"Ma'am, please, this has been a huge misunderstanding! My brother wouldn't hurt a fly!"

"Mm-hm. You're saying this about a kid who assaulted at least seven people at once," said Officer Bev.

"But they had cameras! They scared him! Surely, he shouldn't go to jail for that?"

"Nope. He belongs in a white room, alone and warm and snug between a couple of restraints," said Officer Flossie.

"HE DOES NOT!" If Sarina kept this arguing up, it wouldn't be long before they'd escort her downtown in a pair of cuffs, as well.

So I tried to intervene: "Ladies, please! How about I just pay a fine, and then you'll let him go?"

"Sir, are you trying to bribe us?"

"Wait, Bev! Don't tell me you're not thinking what I'm thinking." The smirk that suddenly crept over Officer Flossie's face made my gut undo itself, only to tie up into a monkey. Already, I didn't like what she meant by that.

"We MIGHT let your friend here go...if you, oh, say...take off your shirt."

_What? _

"Take off your shirt...then take off this guy's shirt and _kiss _him."

I almost had a stroke. These two must've been more of those deranged fangirls who get off from looking at guys being gay with each other. I didn't think you could be a police officer if you had a fetish like that. On the other hand...this could explain why there are so many female guards at _male _prisons. If they wanted some guy-on-guy action, they could track down Yuki and his clique. I, however, needed to protect what dignity I still had. I had my principles and stuck by them, regardless on whether my friends could be saved if I turned my back on them.

Which has posed as a problem more than once, especially in this situation.

"Isn't that abusing your power of authority?" I sputtered.

"Oh, come on! One smooch is all we ask for! Preferably a French kiss."

Officer Bev jumped right in. "And maybe you couldn't do it just on the lips?"

Sarina turned wan. "How can you sound so disgraceful? Police officers are supposed to be honorable!" Poor, naive Sarina.

Officer Flossie fluttered her eyelashes, like that was going to sway me into doing it. "We won't tell anyone."

"Except maybe the other girls in our unit," chimed in Officer Bev, pulling out a camera. This could _not _be happening!

"NO! I won't do it, you can't make me!" I protested, clenching my fists. "Just take some freaking money and leave us alone!"

Flossie shook her head. "Humph! To think that a rich hunk like yourself would appreciate our not asking money from you. But, whatever. C'mon Bev, let's take our perp and go." Her partner nodded, slinging Sartorius like a fox skin over her shoulder with a grunt, then trudged down the hallway. How many steroids did these girls take?

Sarina chased after them, begging them to release her brother. "Wait! He's afraid of light! Don't take him away from me! Not again!" They'd already stepped into the elevator by the time she'd caught up with them, and she almost smashed into the doors once they shut.

As pathetic as this may sound, I just stood there. It could've been because I'd been asked by police girls--come on, _police _girls!--to make out with my manager, and I had yet to get over the disgust; I was so grossed out, that it hardly registered in my head that they'd just taken Sartorius away!

Sarina ran back to me, her violet eyes watering up. "Aster, we must do something! Sartorius can't last a day in prison! He'll wake up in a totally unfamiliar place and...and...where's that gun?"

I made a funny face at her. She usually stayed away from anything gun-related, but she started to look pretty desperate.

I didn't say a word, so she just pushed me aside and sped for the gun lying on the floor. She checked to see if there was any more ammo. I didn't have the heart to tell her that her brother had the last dart lodged in his butt-crack.

"Aster, where do you keep more of these sleeping darts?" she choked out, hopping over the sofa and charging off to who-knows-where. "Are they in the bathroom? We need to hurry!"

I turned around and tried to open my mouth, but nothing came out. A fat, sticky lump clogged up my throat. These kind of moments are rare for me, but don't expect anyone to be watching when I had one of those times.

I heard a door being barged into, followed by the sound of...gurgling water. And splashing.

"_Aster, is the toilet supposed to be gushing like a geyser? Because the bathroom is flooding!" _

No matter where you put them, no good ever came from tabloids.

**_TO BE CONTINUED..._**

* * *

**_Yes, yes, I know. I'll say it for you: you waited three months for this?! DISGRACEFUL! _**

**_I'm sorry, readers. I'm being forced to cut down on my computer time to do other things, and I thought: well, I have to update this SOMETIME. Forgive me, the next chapter will be better, I swear! I must warn you, though: soon, you may feel a little deja vu..._**


	8. A Painful Decision

**_Disclaimer: _I do not own any/ all fictional entities in this segment. I rented them. **

**I have failed again. To all my readers who I may have lost in the six months that I have not updated this fic: how can I blame you? This has got about four more chapters to go, but I don't know when I'll continue...I'm kind of in the middle of a personal issue, right now. **

**_PART VIII_**

We left Dan to clean up the bathroom. After seeing all the effort he put into stopping the riot, I figured that he'd be more suited for clean-up duty. He certainly wasn't happy about it, and he let us know this:

"Oi, this is a squander of m' talents, I seh!"

But I shook him off with the hasty promise that I'd give him a ten percent raise. Two seconds later, Sarina and I were out the door.

Now, just because I'm a young pro duelist with a Ph.D degree, who often has a chauffeur escort me from place to place, doesn't mean I can't drive myself. Besides, driving a limo really is no different from driving an ordinary car. It's just more posh and more spacious. Also, everything is bullet-proof, because let's face it: every prodigy in the world has someone lurking in the wings who has it out for them.

_Cough-_Truesdale-_cough! _

Anyhow, I slipped into the driver's seat, as Sarina got into the shotgun. I put the limo in drive and was about to step on the gas, when--

"WAIT!" Sarina clapped a hand over my shoulder.

"What?"

She reached over and fastened my seatbelt. "You should know better than to drive without your seatbelt, Aster."

I rolled my eyes. Of course, how foolish of me. As soon as she clicked her belt into place, I pushed the pedal to the metal. In no time, we were out on the road.

Unfortunately, on this particular day, traffic was horrible. Well, actually, it wasn't so much the general traffic, as it was the paparazzi encompassing us on all sides. They were still interested in my ambiguous sexual orientation. For perhaps the first time in my life, I truly appreciated dark windows. Otherwise, their flashing cameras probably would've driven me into a street light.

Some of them stuck their heads out of the window, flailing their notebooks in the air as they tried to keep up. My grip on the steering wheel tightened, my palms becoming clammy with sweat. Sarina held on to her seatbelt like it was a comfort rag, her face turning paler and stiffer with every turn we made.

Was it me, or was the way to the police station longer than I expected? Time slows down when you're caught in a jam, I suppose. But fortunately for me, patience is one of my virtues; I managed to keep my eyes straight ahead and stick it out until we got there.

When I spotted the police station, I made a sharp turn into the driveway and snagged the first empty spot I could find. The paparazzi's cars screeched into a halt along the sidewalk, lined up in a row until they looked like a giant chrome centipede with wheels for legs. I knew that they couldn't reach me once Sarina and I entered the building, so as soon as I stepped out of the car, I hopped over the hood to Sarina's side, like a super-sauve agent in a spy movie. Taking her by the hand, I led her out of the car and ran for the building. The paparazzi tried to follow us, chattering in a chorus and waving their notebooks around like flags.

Only when we were safe inside the station did I breathe easily again. I could hear our pursuers scratching against the door like a pack of wolves, hungry for dirty laundry. Sarina's grip on my hand tightened.

I nodded. "All right, let's go." Our footsteps seemed to echo across the bleak white hallway, mingling with the ringing of a dozen phones.

When we reached the office, the first person we met was a woman at the front desk. She had a nail file in one hand and was tending to her nails with an absent-minded and disinterested look to her face.

I cleared my throat. "Ahem, excuse me? May we speak to whoever is in charge?"

The woman looked up at us, not even making an effort to look courteous. That is, until she locked eyes with me. "Is that so? Look, why don't you--ah! Aster? Aster Phoenix? In our station?!" At once, her eyes sparkled like crystal glass. She sprung up to her feet and--no, I'm not making this up--_leapt _over her desk. Sarina and I backed away, in case this lady was another creepy fan girl of mine.

She cupped her hands over her mouth and squealed all around the station, "Look, everyone! Aster Phoenix is in our station!"

Almost like we'd found ourselves among a colony of prairie dogs, everyone in the freaking station popped out of doors and climbed out of their desks. I couldn't help but notice that they were all women. Now, don't get me wrong; it's not that I think that women can't do as good of a job as men. But perhaps for the sake of proper functioning, businesses should have another requirement: that the potential employee not be an obsessive fan of someone or something.

These women were almost as bad as the paparazzi, as they all began to bombard me with questions about my personal life, such as what my favorite food was, what shows I liked, and--predictably--if I was spoken for. Some of them suspected that Sarina was my girlfriend. She hid behind my back; I couldn't blame her. The way their faces turned green and snarly with envy was enough to make me recoil.

One of them waved a copy of _Dueling Dirt _over her head. "Hey, Aster! Word on the street says that you're dating two men! Is that true?"

The one next to her pointed at Sarina, who was pink with shame. "But he's got a girl with him! That must mean that he's _bisexual!_"

I heaved a sigh. This was supposed to be a police station? As I wondered how anything could ever get done here, I said, "Look, we just want to talk to whoever's in charge."

As if on cue, a stocky woman in a leather jacket emerged from her office, her frizzly hair tied into a ponytail. "Then you must want me, Officer Valerie. What's your business here?" she asked clinically.

Glad to have finally found someone with an ounce of common sense, I stepped forward. "Ahem, my roommate Sartorius was arrested a while ago. Is he here?"

"Well, two officers brought in a mental case with a sheet over his head and a baseball bat. Is that who you're talking about?"

I nodded. "I'd like to take him back home. How much is the bail?"

Valerie shook her head. "You can't bail him out. He's awaiting trial for a felony: assaulting a group of people with a deadly weapon."

My blood ran cold. As far as I was concerned, members of the paparazzi weren't people; more like cockroaches that were attracted to the slightest food-stain on one's reputation. Even so, I could only imagine what was going on with Sartorius as we spoke: waking up in a dingy, unfamiliar cell with nothing but the sheet on his back. I had to block out the image so my stomach would settle down.

Sarina spoke up from behind me: "But Officer, he's sick. He didn't know what he was doing, honest!"

Valerie looked us over suspiciously. "I'm sorry, but all I can tell you is that I hope the guy gets a good lawyer. If he can prove that he's insane, then maybe things'll work out for him."

I took a deep breath. Off the top of my head, I knew one lawyer who could probably help us out...but I never actually liked the guy. Howard Miller--who also liked to be called "X" in reference to his middle initial--was Sartorius's attorney who he had hired back when he was possessed to wipe out Jaden in a duel. Of course, it didn't work, but he didn't suffer some painful death or anything like that. Unlike most other creeps who have reckoned with the kid.

He was conniving, ruthless, sleezy...pretty much every trait you'd find in a decent lawyer. Oxymoronic, much? Nevertheless, that's why I opted to find Sartorius a lawyer. Valerie looked me over from brow to toe. "And what relation do you have with the offender?" she demanded.

"He's my ex-manager and roommate."

"Is he a tenant?"

I shook my head.

Her lips twisted up into something that looked like half a smirk and half a scowl. "So, he's your significant other?" _AUGH!_ Honestly, can't two men live together without having to sleep together? Still, I must give her credit for using the term "significant other," rather than "boyfriend" or "bum chum."

"No, he's just a roommate," I corrected, trying my hardest to remain civil.

In an attempt to be helpful, Sarina added, "He's my brother, and we both live with Aster. We're like family, only we're not all biologically related."

Fortunately, Valerie didn't push the matter any further. "All right, then. Get him a lawyer, if you can. The trial is scheduled for Monday morning at nine-o'-clock sharp, two weeks from now. Don't you forget." She turned to her co-workers and barked at them to get back to work.

* * *

Howard's office was about as eerie as the man who worked there; it almost felt like stumbling into a haunted house. The hardwood floor creaked underneath our feet, the doors squeaked like they had never been oiled, and the only source of light was the dim green lamp on his desk. Oh, and not that this detail's too relevant to the story, but he had no secretary. Then again, who'd want to answer the phone for a guy who liked stomping on wildflowers?

He sat at his desk, his sallow skin practically glowing in the semi-darkness. He looked like one of those vampires from that popular book series--_Twilight, _I believe it's called--only bonier and much less attractive...to put it nicely.

"...So, that's why we're here," I concluded once I relayed the whole story to him. "You think you can take up this case?" I must admit, I felt kind of nauseous just from talking to him. He tended to have that effect on people, I guess. If he wasn't the only lawyer I could turn to, I wouldn't have been here in the first place.

Howard listened with his chin resting on his folded hands, his glasses flashing wickedly under the light. "Yes, I see. Quite a predicament," he said with a even more wicked smirk on his lips. Even in the darkness, I noticed that one of his eyes locked on Sarina. "You know, I've been in need of a secretary. How would you like if I offered you a job, my dear?" Sarina seemed to shrink with embarrassment, her eyes shifting to the floor. I wasn't sure if that was supposed to be a flirty remark; I never thought of Howard as that kind of guy.

I narrowed my eyes. "Hey, did you listen to a word I said?"

"Of course, I did, Mr. Phoenix. People have two ears for a reason. Unless you're Van Gogh, of course, heh-heh-heh." His sense of humor was about as hollowed-out as his face, more likely to make people cry rather than snicker.

He cleared his throat: "Ahem, levity aside, I believe we can win this case. He didn't kill anyone, did he?"

"No. He wouldn't have attacked those guys in the first place if he was in his right mind."

Howard nodded. "Ah, that's how we'll keep him out of prison: we'll use the insanity defense. All we have to do is have him evaluated by a psychiatrist as insane, and instead of sentencing him to twenty or so years, they'll admit him into a hospital."

At the word "hospital," my mind suddenly went murky with the memory of the countless times that I'd promised Sartorius that I wouldn't send him away. Oh man, if I agreed to using the insanity defense to win the case, they'd put him in the hospital. Sure, he'd get the treatment he needed, but he'd probably never forgive me for betraying him.

On the other hand, I couldn't let the law lock him up and throw away the key. He wouldn't last twenty minutes even with his newfound recklessness, much less twenty years. See, this is why you shouldn't make promises. Even if you think you're going to keep it, there's a great possibility that you can't, especially if you're going to have to break it for the benefit of everyone.

I felt Sarina squeeze my hand. She must've been having a rough time with this decision, too.

"Well? What will it be, Mr. Phoenix? Insanity defense?"

My heart sank like a marble dropped into a swimming pool. I hated it when I had no choice. Trying not to choke, I took a deep breath...

"Yeah, that sounds like it'd work."

And all I had to keep me calm was to keep telling myself that this was for Sartorius's own good.

**_TO BE CONTINUED..._**


	9. Courtroom Chaos

**_Disclaimer: _I do not own any/ all fictional entities in this segment; they belong to Kazuki Takahashi. I rented them. **

**_Part IX_**

Come that decisive Monday morning, we were wedged between the judge and trepidating witnesses, waiting for the trial to begin. I sat in between Sarina and Howard, dressed in my best white suit. My nerves--I'm almost ashamed to admit--weren't quite as steely as they should've been; I tried to cover that up with pursed lips and a relentless stare. I had my hands folded on the table, my thumbs quivering with the urge to be twiddled. But I can assure you: Aster Phoenix does _not _twiddle.

Howard passed me a smarmy smirk. "What's the matter, Mr. Phoenix? You look tense."

I couldn't have looked half as bad as Sarina did. From the way her forehead wrinkled like a cheap suit to her ongoing silence since breakfast, I could tell that she feared being stuck in a coutroom, though I'm sure she feared what would happen to her brother even more. Her eyes were fixed on Judge Jillian Sterling, sitting high and mighty at the front of the room with gavel in her hand.

Along with the crowds' buzzing in my ears, my mind roared like a race car spiralling out of control, and like a race car, they crashed back and forth into the walls of my skull. What _would _happen to Sartorius? Could I keep him out of prison? Would he really be better off in the hospital? Would he understand that I really did have his best interests at heart?

Just when I thought this trial would never start, Judge Sterling asked, "Is the court ready to proceed?"

That's when they carried in Sartorius, as in they had one guard on either side of him propping him up because apparently he couldn't walk on his own. I caught a glimpse of his pale, bony face and he looked like he was out of it. He could hardly even hold his head up.

They expected him to be able to testify for himself in _that _condition?

"What's wrong with the defendant?" asked Sterling.

"He wouldn't come out of his cell without fighting," explained one of the guards. "We had to sedate him, Your Honor." Sarina's face turned almost as sallow as her brother's, her eyes glistening with tears. I could see her fighting them by biting her lower lip.

Howard glanced at our tranquilized friend, then turned back to face Sterling and raised his hand. "Your Honor, if the defense can make their opening statement, now...?"

"Objection!" shouted the prosecutor, springing out of his chair as though he were speaking out against his daughter's wedding to the neighbor's dog.

"Overruled. Go on, Mr. Miller."

Howard rose from his seat, placing his briefcase on the table. That sleazy grin on his face grew until he looked like the Cheshire Cat with anorexia. "Your Honor, if the defendant needs to be sedated just to get out of his cell, then surely he's suffering from a severe mental deficiency? Therefore, he cannot be held at fault for his actions."

"Objection!"

Sarina leaned in next to me. "Why does that man keep saying 'objection'?" she whispered.

I gave her the best answer I could: "He's the prosecutor. He's supposed to interrupt every time we have something to say."

Sterling shook her head. I could tell from the creases on her face that she didn't really care much about Sartorius as she did for this trial to be over with; that alone made my stomach lurch. For that matter, were they even allowed to shoot a guy up with sedatives right before his trial? It's a travesty, really: there aren't a lot of people who care as much about justice as I do.

"That's what they all say, Your Honor," added the prosecutor.

Sterling rubbed circles into her temples. "Overruled."

What Howard did next is just one of the reasons he's a powerful lawyer. Undoing the locks on his briefcase, he pulled out a flashlight. "Your Honor, if you don't mind, I will prove that my client is insane." He strolled over to the stand where Sartorius slouched, his chin resting on the gate. With the flashlight behind his back, he leaned in extra close to his ear.

"Mr. Sartorius, are you awake?"

I could hardly believe it myself, but it looked like Sartorius was coming to, sort of. His voice hardly rose above a breath: "Who...who are you? Wh-Where am I...?"

"Ah, good, you're coming to. Mr. Sartorius, could you do me a small favor?"

He pried open one of Sartorius's eyelids, holding the flashlight just a half-inch away from his face.

"Say 'cheese'."

_Click. _

Well, right then and there, he went totally _beserk, _as though those sedatives had worn off at that very moment_. _It happened so fast that even I didn't know it until Howard crashed to the floor with a hand over his eye. Sartorius had tried to scratch it out, and now he was clawing at the air, screaming that the light was swallowing him up, bit by bit.

Howard wouldn't stop, either. He scooted a little further away and kept the damn flashlight pointed at his face. He continued to torture him, clicking the flashlight on and off like the flash on a camera, and I knew from his smirk that he really enjoyed seeing him squirm.

Luckily, Sartorius was too riled up to even climb out of the stands, trapped like a rabid cat, but the rest of the courtroom turned into a madhouse, anyway. Sterling was pounding her gavel, barking for order, the prosecutor was yelling "Objection, objection!" all over the place, the people were scrambling out of their seats, and Sarina was clinging to my torso for dear life.

Me? I just sat there, lame as that sounds. I felt like I was watching all of this happen from miles away, like some really bad crime drama on T.V.

Finally, the guards rushed to the front of the room: one to pin Sartorius's hands behind his back and force him down, the other to whip out a syringe. Just as abruptly as it began, the riot died out. Sartorius fell limp underneath the guard's grasp.

Sarina couldn't hold it, anymore. She buried her face in my shoulder, soaking it with her hot tears.

Howard stood up and pulled his hand away from his eye, revealing a throbbing red scratch right under it. Picking his glasses up off the floor, he pulled out a handkerchief and started wiping the lenses. "Pardon me for the commotion, Your Honor," he said as though nothing had happened, "but as you can see, my client becomes intensely violent towards sources of light, such as the flash from a dozen or so cameras from the paparazzi. At least he didn't have a baseball bat, this time, huh?" As if that were supposed to be a joke, he started to chuckle, though he quickly covered it up by clearing his throat.

The prosecutor, with his toupee tilted to the far right side of his head, scrambled back onto his feet. He weakly raised his hand and squeaked, "Objection." I really don't know why; probably just for the sake of saying "objection."

Sterling stopped to fix her frazzled, gray hair, shooting the poor bastard a withering look. And for the third time that day, she said, "Overruled."

* * *

That was probably the cleanest that I'd ever seen Howard play in a courtroom; believe it or not, it worked. I guess Sterling must've wanted the trial to end or something, but either way, by the end of the day, Sartorius's verdict was "not guilty by reason of insanity." By the pound of her gavel, she ordered to have him committed to the hospital.

I didn't feel as good as the rest of the team, though. If anything, I felt hollow. I couldn't watch when they picked him up to carry him out. In the back of my mind, I wondered if Sartorius was aware of what had happened. I was kind of praying he wasn't.

That was the first reason I hesitated leaving the courthouse. The second was because the paparazzi was waiting for us outside, naturally. Guess being assaulted with a baseball bat hadn't fazed them in the least bit. Their cameras and their questions made it feel like walking in the middle of a dueling field. I managed to slink through the sea of reporters with my eyes fixed on the sidewalk and my hand clenching Sarina's.

"What's the matter, Mr. Phoenix?" Howard asked, slapping me on the back like we were chums. "You should drink up this triumph for all it's worth. Sartorius isn't going to prison, after all."

_He is, in a sense. _

For almost two weeks after the trial, I didn't go out to see him. It wasn't that I didn't want to, honest. Those nosy jerks kept us holed up in the apartment. I could only imagine what kind of dirt they were coming up with for their publishers, even though I never answered to any of them. And yet, I couldn't really care less.

All I could think about was what was happening to Sartorius. It left me empty inside. But you know, better to have no feeling than to go around all emo...not like Truesdale.

The emptiness persisted until one fateful day, when I was sitting at the table, cutting up my beef fillet into tiny piles. Beef fillet is my favorite food, but I didn't really have the appetite for it at that moment.

All of a sudden, the walls started to tremble. At first, I thought it was just a tremor, a mild earthquake, but it wasn't that, at all. Sarina came dashing into the kitchen.

"Aster! Come quick! There's a helicopter outside!"

A _helicopter? _It took me a couple of minutes for my brain to process this as she and I left our place to head outside. Sure enough, when we left the building, a mighty gust rippled our hair, salting our clothes with swells of dust. A sleek white chopper hung overhead, unconcerned with the hundreds of astonished eyes pointed in its direction.

I noticed the crest printed on the tail: a black serpent coiled around the globe. I could recognize that symbol anywhere...not that it made the situation any more believeable. Because that was the official crest of the kingdom of Misgarth.

As soon as a ladder rolled out of the chopper, I recognized the red-haired girl climbing down as Linda, attendant to His Highness, Prince Ojin. He came out right behind her.

Believe me, the first thing I wanted to say was, "What the _hell _are you doing at my place?!" But being the debonair gentleman and stickler for protocol that I am, I bowed, instead. Sarina followed suit next to me.

"Good afternoon, your Highness. What is the whim that has brought you to our neighborhood?"

Linda stepped aside to let Ojin do the talking, and he got right to the point. But you won't believe what that point was: "Afternoon, Phoenix. I've come to collect."

"...Thanks, but I've already paid my taxes."

Ojin tossed his mane and laughed. "Oh, ho-ho-ho, Phoenix, you card! I'm talking about the money you owe me." I really didn't like that smile on his face.

I raised an eyebrow. "I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about, Your Majesty." He was royalty; why did he feel the need to go around, randomly shaking people for their money when he had a owned a satellite?

"You know, the fee for lending my kingdom's satellite to Sartorius?"

**_TO BE CONTINUED..._**

**_Yes, I know, four months and this is all you get? But I feel that I need to stop here because the next chapter's gonna be a whopper. I just want to see this through to the end, you know? _**


	10. The Rocky Finale

**_Disclaimer: _I do not own any/ all fictional entities in this segment; they belong to Kazuki Takahashi. I rented them. **

**_Part X_**

_I owe for you lending your WHAT to WHO?!_

I damn near had a heart attack before my mind could compute what he'd just said! It took every ounce of composure I still had not to double over in shock.

Even so, my mouth was running miles before my head, probably one of my worst moments of all time. "You did _what!? _Didn't you learn anything from the last time you lent him your satellite?"

Ojin narrowed his eyes. "How dare you talk to me like that! I'm the one who should be talking down to _you! _Isn't that right, Linda?"

Speaking of Linda, I begged His Highness's pardon for a moment or two to sidestep him. "Linda," I whispered in her ear, "can't you reason with him?"

Her face creased with tired lines. "You don't think I've tried?" she whispered back. "It's rather hard to reason with your superiors when they've been brainwashed."

_Brainwashed? _With what, evil psychic energy? Because we'd--I should say Jaden'd--conquered the Wave of Light a long time ago.

"What spell is he under, this time?"

"Money, Aster. Money is the spell he's under."

Well, that made as much sense as basically anything on this show. Ojin was freaking royalty! I imagined him to live in a castle built out of solid diamond and ride around in silver-plated choppers with the words _"Ha-ha, I have everything and you have nothing!" _printed on the sides in rubies and emeralds.

Okay, so I might be exaggerating a bit. But still, he owned a satellite! You can't be any richer than that.

As if Ojin somehow read my mind, he pulled me away from Linda and looked me square in the eyes as if _I _had done something wrong. "Since the events of the tournament last year, we have upgraded our satellite so we would stand a better chance against another alien attack. Only problem is, however, it...ahem, cost us a large chunk of Misgarth's budget to do so. But dear Sartorius was kind enough to offer to make a donation, in exchange for renting the satellite to him for awhile."

"Did he specify what he planned to do with it?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

Ojin turned up his nose. "Said something about protecting the world from the evil Light. I thought that was perfectly reasonable, since he is no longer possessed and running a cult."

Sartorius was in the nut-house. Ojin honestly thought that he was in a totally sane state of mind, basing it solely on the fact that he was no longer under an outside influence? I shot a look over his shoulder at Linda, whose frown conveyed the message that she couldn't talk him out of it. Why does someone have an assistant follow him around if he's not even going to listen to her advice?

Ojin narrowed his eyes. "And he said that you would have the money."

"Now, hold on, what makes you sure I've got _that _kind of money?"

"Well, you are the D's ward, aren't you? Didn't you inherit his fortune when he disappeared? I'd like to think that with that and the extravagant salary you earn from your job, your wallet should be as bountiful as the gardens back home. This must be especially so, since you like to make a hobby out of _donating _to charity."

There's a saying for things like this: when you're hit with an arrow, you don't waste your time trying to figure out who shot it or why. The first thing you do is pull it out before the wound festers. I don't know about your world, but this applies especially to mine. Strange things happen all the time, like this particular moment. Rather than try to piece out how this deal was struck--without my knowledge, might I add--or how they smuggled in satellite keys into a mental hospital, or how the staff couldn't have noticed, I knew that I needed to stop the madness, before things could get any worse.

If they _could_ get worse, that is.

I made a quick bow to excuse myself. "Your Majesty, I'm sorry, but it doesn't do any good to upgrade your satellite if you're going to lend it to a sick person who could do something stupid with it under the misguided belief that he's helping the world, somehow. Now if you'll excuse me, I've got an urgent visit to the hospital to keep with."

Sarina took my hand, and before long, we were speeding down the road like Bonnie and Clyde, with Ojin's helicopter gaining on us, the only thing keeping it from landing on us being the skyscrapers.

Somehow, over the roar of the bustling traffic and the hum of the blades, I heard Ojin's voice: "You can't run away, Phoenix! _We pinky-swore!_"

* * *

"Oi, what we doin' at th' looney bin?" Dan demanded as he, under my instruction, rolled into the entrance in a turn so sharp that all three of us almost got whiplash.

"You just stay here and watch the limo," I ordered as Sarina and I scrambled out. "Keep the paparazzi as far at bay as you can!" In an emergency situation like this, I couldn't afford to be cornered by a pack of reporters. "I'll raise your salary again if you do a good job."

"Look up thar!" Dan aimed a thick, hairy finger up to the sky above us, where Ojin's ride hummed like a ceiling fan. "Is that Prince Ojin's chopper?"

I didn't answer him; didn't have the time nor the breath. Sarina and I skirted in between parked cars towards the entrance, and almost didn't make it because just before we passed through the automatic doors, a frizzly-haired woman in a wheelchair shot out and hooked her finger into the waistband of my pants.

"Hey!" she squealed. "Want to get married?" Okay, I can forgive something like that. The lady was crazy, and I'm a teenage heartthrob and all. Still, that's a pretty damn creepy thing to say to a stranger who's just going into the hospital, even if I could make a million for every time I've heard it.

Working up a polite smile, I pried her finger out of my pants. "No, thank you. I've got business to take care of."

The manic grin on her lips flipped upside-down. "Gaw, that figures! All the good ones are faggots!" I didn't think the mentally ill had the time to read tabloids. Although...with the kind of sludge you'll find in a tabloid, I wouldn't be the least bit surprised if they _caused_ mental illness.

In spite of everything, I bowed, then jogged after Sarina, who stood in the threshold to keep the doors open for me. The receptionist sat at the front desk, the receiver of her phone cradled between her head and her shoulder while she filed her nails. She didn't look up to see us hurrying towards her.

I cleared my throat, trying to keep a straight face through this entire ordeal. "Excuse me, ma'am, we're here to see a patient, Sartorius. Which room is he in?"

Still without looking at us, she deadpanned, "Room 104. Go down the hall, make a left, right, and another left."

Well, that was easy. That would be the only easy part. Unable to run through the corridors, we were forced into a brisk jog, the kind of gait you'd see in those jogging nuts with music blasting in their ears. As soon as the door with the numbers 1-0-4 on the plate entered our sights, a nurse was passing by with a cart of meds.

She whirled around when I clapped my hand over the knob. "Um, excuse me, sir, you might not want to go in there."

"But we need to," exclaimed Sarina. "Sartorius is in there, trying to destroy the world!"

The nurse looked as Sarina as if she were an escaped patient from the mental ward. "Sartorius? The one with the PTSD and photophobia? Yeah, you don't want to see him, right now."

"My apologies, ma'am, but we kind of need to. It's an emergency." I dare you to try to say that the next time you've got an emergency with a straight face.

"Well, I wouldn't think you'd get a lot done; he's in there, sleeping off his meds." She continued on her way with a roll of her eyes. I didn't believe that for a second. In fact, as soon as I saw her vanish around the corner, I was off jittering the knob, hoping on my life that we weren't too late.

_Creeeak, _groaned the door, all dramatic-like, to reveal a stark white room on the other side. Just as I suspected--because my instinct is never wrong--Sartorius wasn't in bed, sleeping off his meds. He was, however, around it. I could tell because his bare feet stuck out from underneath, his toes wiggling with delusional anticipation as a series of beeps streamed out around them.

My blood turned crispy with ice. He was already at it.

"Come on...come on...why won't this device work?"

Then again, it also sounded like he was failing. Not to put him or Sarina down, but Sartorius had about as much understanding of computers as his sister, _before _falling under the Wave of Light's influence.

It's usually below me to get down on my knees and go crawling under beds, but that was the only way to reach him. The other way was to yank him out by the ankles, but he'd already been subjected to too much abuse.

"Sartorius!" cried Sarina.

The beeping stopped. "S-Sarina?"

By then, I had managed to squirm underneath the bed, my skin under my suit numbing against the sterilized linoleum. Just inches across from me was my sick friend, his features dimly detailed by the light pouring from behind him. His eyes looked empty and sunken into their sockets, his pupils dominating like two black holes where his irises should've been...God, he never looked so pale and gaunt and flat-out miserable since he was possessed, like an animal that'd never seen the light of day.

In front of him sat that computer which would doom all of humanity once he figured out how to work it. He peeked over the top and blinked once, twice, three times. It was like he didn't recognize my face, at all. Probably because he's spent most of his time here under the bed or in the closet.

He pulled the computer closer to his chest, like it was some sort of treasure. "Away with you, stranger!" he said, hoarse and desperate, as he clenched a fist with delusional conviction. "There's nothing you can do to stop me from obliterating the mother cell of all Light..._the Sun!_ Just as soon as I figure out how to admit the password." Apparently, Ojin had made a few security modifications, in addition to the keys. Not that they mattered if he was going to hand it over to a sick guy.

Okay, that plan was wrong on so many levels. Number One: I don't think a mere satellite cannon could blow up the Sun, since it's essentially a giant ball of gas. Number Two: even if it could, it'd take _centuries _for the beam to reach it, maybe _millennia_. So, either way, his plan to blow away the Sun would fail.

Still, _something_ was going to get messed up if I didn't get that computer the hell away from him. And no alien duel monsters or kids with mutant dinosaur skeletons would help me, this time.

Actually, I wouldn't have and duel monsters to help me out, period. I figured this out when I reached over to activate the duel disk on my arm (it's a reflex of mine, most duelists have it), only to learn that I didn't _have _a duel disk to activate. I guess I'd left that and my deck in the car, by...I wouldn't call it a mistake, more like a momentary lapse of reason, common to people like me under a lot of pressure and not a lot of time. Maybe I should get a secretary or something, to carry my stuff?

I didn't have time to kick myself for it, though. I'd have to use...an alternative.

With the stiffest lip I could muster, I tried to reason with him with words. "Hey, take it easy, it's me, Aster!"

"A...Aster? How did...how did you get here? Did the Light imprison you, too?"

Sarina got down on her knees and poked in at the foot of the bed. "Sartorius!"

"...Sister?"

"It's me, Brother, Sarina! Please, don't do anything rash!" she begged as she squeezed him on the arm. "You're not imprisoned! We just want you to get better!"

Her brother shook her off like she was contaminated. "You...You've already been brainwashed," he hissed. "The Light's trying to turn you and Aster against me! _You're_ the ones who need to get better. The _entire world_ will be better once I fire the cannon at the source of the dreaded Light!" By that point, he'd curled up into a practical ball, arms around the computer as though relinquishing it would kill him. I have to admit, something plucked a cord deep down in me by just looking into his face. Had we lost him? Did we ever have him to begin with?

"Sartorius, wait!" I snatched him by the wrists before he could fiddle with another button. "You got to listen: you're...not...imprisoned. You're in the hospital--"

He thrashed around like a fox with both paws caught in traps, damn near dragging me along with him. "Like I would believe that! The Aster I know would never send me away! He promised me that he wouldn't!"

I'm no softie, honest, I'm not--I wasn't crying or anything--but I thought I could feel the tiniest lump sticking to a side of my throat, gradually growing in size like a tumor that threatened to silence me before I said what needed to be said. So, I spilled it while I still could, with a kind of composure that probably seemed, from an outsider's perspective, out of place in this situation, and yet somehow--I can't really explain why--felt out of character for me.

"No, Sartorius. You _are_ in the hospital."

He fell still. The whole room fell still, except for the air conditioner humming a monotone tune, like a flat-line.

"It _was_ the only way to keep you out of prison for attacking the paparazzi. You have to believe me, Sartorius, if there was any other way, I would've done it."

He turned his head away, bitterness dimming his eyes. "_Lies..._lies, if I've ever heard them--"

"Nothing I say is a lie, Sartorius. All we want is for you to get better. We know that you're...trying...to conquer your fear, but we want to help you. And to do that, we had to..."

I didn't want to say "send you away," but I didn't want to say "find other people who could give you better help than we could," either. Huh, the day Aster Phoenix can't find the right words to end one little sentence: the end of days.

I can only guess what was running through his head in that moment. All I know is that his grip on the computer fell limp, enough for Sarina to make her move. She eased the device out of his arms and scrambled out from under the bed with it. I was expecting Sartorius to lunge after her and all, but he didn't. His arms remained in the same position, as though he were still protecting that stupid thing. It was like he had become catatonic, or something.

"Sartorius?"

I was hesitant at first, but my hand inched across the distance between us and landed on his shoulder, to make sure he was alive. He grew stony at my touch, then recoiled like a threatened cat; I swear, his hair started to prickle and everything, not quite like it did when the Wave of Light possessed him, but it prickled.

His lip curled up a bit, exposing his teeth as he hissed at me, "No. Aster would _never _betray me. Aster would never...Aster would never...you would never..."

His eyes became glossy with those all-too-familiar tears. For a moment there, he looked like the sad kid I first met at my father's grave, a memory as dreary and wet as the weather had been that day.

No, I'm not the sentimental type, honest, I'm not.

And like I've said before, I don't get scared, though I do get startled--just a little--as was the case when he lunged at me and cuffed his hands around my arms. His nails dug deep into my skin to the point where they threatened to draw blood; I couldn't help but wince...though I assure you that you couldn't see it if you were there under that hospital bed.

For a second, he almost looked like he was going to attack me. But he didn't. I knew that he wouldn't, deep down. What he did, instead, he buried his face into my shoulder, his tears dampening the fabric of my suit. (Not that that mattered, at all, of course.) And I just stood there, every muscle in my body turned to stone.

His sobbing mangled his words to the point where I couldn't quite hear what he was saying, but I think he said something about us "being even." Perhaps he was referring to the time when he manipulated me under the Light's influence?

Whatever he said, I didn't say a word in response. What _could_ I say? I may have two PhDs under my belt, but neither of them have anything to do with communicating with sick people, even if they were my friend.

On the bright side, at least the computer was out of his grasp.

Speaking of which--

_CRASSSH! _

Somewhere from behind me, I thought I heard it smashing to chips outside.

Apparently, Sarina--God love her--with her severe lack of computer-savvy, found no other way to abort the pending task except to fling the whole damn thing out the window.

With a hand muffling her words, she squeaked, "Aster, I think I turned it off! I think."

* * *

I could go on and tell you what happened after that, how all this crap worked out, how Sartorius and I managed to get over the concept of how I "betrayed" him and all. But frankly, I've dragged this story out for too long, have given myself a migraine, and I believe it's safe to assume that you're getting a migraine from listening. Besides, this all hasn't actually "worked out," yet.

Sartorius is still in the psychiatric ward, on the road to recovery, we're hoping. But deep down, I don't think the poor guy will ever reach the end of that road. Not that I'm not rooting for him, mind you; what I'm saying is that he'll probably never be _all _right. When you've been through as much as he has--or what _I _have--you'll never be perfectly fine. I thought he was "all right" when he was freed from the Light's influence. Everything that I've just told you about has blown that notion out of the sky, leaving no remains to be salvaged.

I'm still paying back the money I "owe" Ojin, for busting his computer, and because "I promised" to donate to his fund, the Misgarth Extra-terrestrial And Non-earthly Imbalance-Neutralizing Giant Laser-Emitting Satellite Savings (M.E.A.N.I.N.G.L.E.S.S., for short). Since I've always had the half-secret habit of philanthropism, money has been, for the first memorable time in my life, a little tight. I've had to lay off people (Dan was far from pleased), cut wages, choke my schedule with extra duels. Sarina's been trying to help by doing her share of odd jobs, none involving heavy use of computers.

You must be wondering why I don't refuse to pay Ojin. Well, maybe I could, but as awesome as I am, I'm just a Pro Duelist. He's the ruler of a whole country. In terms of lawyers and all, there's not really a contest, and if I can help it, I don't ever want to share the same courtroom with Howard again. Some fights aren't worth picking, what can I say? Besides, I don't want any more dirt for the press to sling around.

Speaking of the press, I guess I can wrap this up by telling you how I finally dealt with them. Not for good, because one of my stature will never be through with them, but as I exited the arena after another sweet victory, there they were ahead of me like a human prison wall. Their camera flashes were like searchlights, searching for the next questionable thing I should say or do.

Microphones thrusted into my face, questions whizzed through one ear and out the other like darts. "Mr. Phoenix, where are you headed off to, now?"

"Is it true that your lover Sartorius is in the looney bin?"

"Provided that he is your lover?"

"Is he your only one?"

Ugh, again with the gay thing. People refuse to let that kind of crap go. My voice tempered with my trademark steely calm, and any trace of weariness blinked out of my eyes, I told them all what I should've told them a long time ago:

"Thanks for the concern, but right now, I've got a friend who needs me. If you don't mind, I'd like to get through, please. About the rumors that I am gay?" I remembered how that Joe Blow character had helped to tip that first domino. "I'd just like to say that he who plays a card, drew that card from his own deck." That's the sophisticated duelist's way of saying, "He who smelt it, dealt it."

"And even if I were, forgive me if I'm wrong, but you people act like it's a bad thing. Does orientation take away from a duelist's skill?"

I could hardly believe it myself, but that shut them up. The cameras quit flashing, the mikes withdrew back to their owners. Sure enough, the paparazzi parted down the middle like the Red Sea, allowing me to stroll by to my limo, where Sarina was waiting for me (not as the driver; God forbid I ever let her get behind the wheel).

As soon as I got far enough away from them, a smile played with the corners of my lips. I'll bet Truesdale's never said anything so witty to the press, mostly because he goes and hides under a rock when he's not out slitting throats and ripping money off of folks he "shrinks" for. I'm not sure whether to hold him accountable for what happened to Sartorius. He wouldn't have gotten to him if I hadn't let him--invited him to--slither into my apartment...and there's no way I'm going to admit fault, in the open, anyway.

I slid into the driver's seat and jammed the key into the ignition. Sarina's face looked gaunt and unreadable in the mirror underneath the blinking streetlights, but judging by the way she clutched her seat belt, she was anxious to see her brother.

I didn't tell her, but...so was I.

In fact, the only words we exchanged before I turned the key was:

"Aster?"

"I know; buckling up."

I buckled up. As I did, I wondered what the press was going to spit up about what I'd said back there the following day. Maybe they'd blow it out of proportion, like they always do, and say that I had confirmed the rumors? Or maybe they'd still think I had "come out," but treat me like a bigger hero than I already was for being so "courageously civilized" about it?

Though to be honest, that didn't bother me a fraction as much as did what state Sartorius would be in when we saw him. Would he able to talk to us? Had he made any other recycled crazy-ass plans that we didn't know about? Was he responding well to the treatment? Would I be able to reason that I never meant to "betray" him?

I pushed the gas pedal to the floor. In spite of everything, I wanted to get to the hospital as soon as possible, so things could start its eventual return to, if not total normality, the closest to normality as we were capable of having. The limo soon melted into the cool dimness of the city streets as we left the paparazzi far behind in a cloud of invisible exhaust fumes.

**_END_**

**_God, what a crappy ending! I'm not sure if I should change the genre to "Angst" or "Drama" from "Humor;" you know that any story about insanity is bound to reach a point where it's not that funny, anymore. That thing with the satellite...that was the deja vu I mentioned before, by the way? _**

**_But, I really wanted to finish this so I could move on to other things. Couldn't leave it undone, could I? Considering how much time I've been at this and all. _**

**_Thanks for reading, though! Hope you folks aren't TOO let down..._**


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